Love Hina: Outsider Looking In
by TLKFan
Summary: Keitaro is the son of a Japanese diplomat with a talent. He's lived all of his life in countries worlds apart from Japan, so what will happen when he goes back to try out for Tokyo University? How will he find enough time for both studying and practicing for one of the biggest mountain biking events in the world? Whatever happens, he's an outsider looking in.
1. Chapter 1

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Author's Notes are denoted by parentheses, thoughts are denoted by italicized text, and emphasis is denoted by italicized text as well.

This story is rated T for any or all of the following: language, alcohol/drug use, non-explicit sexual, adult, or otherwise disturbing content, and graphic violence.

* * *

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter One

* * *

(I strongly suggest reading the Love Hina manga in its entirety before reading this fanfiction. I'm going to use simple Japanese honorifics, so you may want to familiarize yourself with them as well. For the most part, I will respect the original storyline, but, of course, I plan to take some creative license.

I've decided against titling chapters, just because I feel no reason to do so. I doubt that this story will have many flashbacks at all, so it should be quite easy to follow things.

I'm not going to give you a preview of the story here, as I hope you'll give it a try with a relatively open mind. It should be light and enjoyable: a departure from the usual, dark tone of my writing. Please enjoy.)

* * *

Japan had never been big enough for the Urashima family. We all know of Hina's habit of suddenly dropping everything for long-term globe-trotting expeditions—but besides that, Haruka, for instance, had spent a great deal of her life in Australia, western Europe, and South Korea, before eventually returning home for extended employment and stability.

Likewise, Hina's son had found out during his years in the prestigious Tokyo University that his future wasn't in Hinata Springs, the paradise getaway of the Kanagawa District. No, he needed to experience the non-Japanese world, and after graduating and spending a few years, and more yen than he'd like to admit, he realized that two countries in particular stood out amongst the rest: America… and Pakistan.

An odd combination of interests and desires had eventually landed the only living child of Urashima Hina his job as a Japanese foreign politician—but despite how many of his classmates, relatives, and friends shook their heads in disappointment, swearing that he was doing only himself a disservice by selecting such a career over other, potentially more profitable paths of life, he made it work. He was soon happy, wealthy, well-connected, with a beautiful, loving American wife he'd met while on the job, and a bright, well-mannered son… who had only ever spent a few years of his life in his father's homeland.

Shortly after Urashima Keitaro had turned four, his father's career had suddenly, unexpectedly, but happily been kicked into the high gear. No longer did his job involve filling out paperwork and making phone calls in a cubicle in Tokyo, taking occasional trips to DC, Islamabad, or several other cities across the world. From then on, he'd be located in overseas, semi-permanently.

Thus, the young Urashima family spent thirteen years mostly in Pakistan, though they did stay in the US for a few months out of the year. They maintained residences in Islamabad and Washington, and their lifestyle was unique. It brought them a type of satisfaction that, they knew, few others could even comprehend. They could go to sleep in San Francisco, after a dinner of burgers and fries, and wake up in Peshawar in time for a lunch of lamb kabob and naan.

This life brought Keitaro many things—fluency in English and Urdu (and by extension, Hindi); proficiency in Punjabi, spoken Japanese; and some knowledge of Pashtu and some other Pakistani dialects. It brought him an almost supernatural mastery of his hobby, his passion—but it left him woefully out of touch with his Japanese heritage and family.

One or two "how are you doing?" phone calls a year didn't really replace the natural caring and affection that would have occurred between relatives—not for him, nor anyone else. And, yet, what could be done? Before extended family came immediate family, so Keitaro _had_ to live with his parents. Several times, in recent years, plans had been made to send him to Japan for a few weeks, just to meet his grandmother and "aunt" again, after a lifetime apart. But they'd never worked; things had always come up with the inn, or the tea shop, or work, or _something_. And the fact that Hina had been (and still was, sometimes) one of the more vocal critics of her son's life decisions didn't help negotiations at all.

Now, though, Keitaro was a man—eighteen—with big dreams and a desire for a life of his own. If he was ever to really meet his grandmother and cousin again and feel, in his gut, that he had a family with more than three members, this was the best time. It was also probably the _only_ time.

Plans for the future were often discussed at the Urashima dining table. Keitaro had mentioned the desire to head to his father's home country, after a few days of giving it some transient thought—and it was then that his parents realized that a few unrelated problems could shortly solve themselves.

Since childhood—just after he'd left Japan for the first, last, and only time in his life—Keitaro had held a burning, overwhelming to be educated at Tokyo University that rivaled the fervor with which he practiced his sport.

Of course, his parents—particularly his father—had supported him. They'd given him enough homeschooling to make up for any educational gaps left by a life without a single, set home and a single, set school… but, of course, their best efforts didn't have the same effects that months of brain-busting at a cram school could. Keitaro could read and write Japanese, but not very well, and some of his other academic skills left something to be desired.

There was, however, the slight—or not so slight—possibility of him getting in on a sports scholarship. But no one wanted to take that chance, and, so, quickly, a plan had been developed.

Keitaro was to go to Japan, and live with his grandmother in the picturesque Hinata Inn while working on his Japanese and attending a reputable cram school in nearby Tokyo. He'd be able to study, and if he got into Tokyo University, he wouldn't have to worry about housing—what's more, he'd have all the time in the world to reconnect with the only other members of his family that cared about him, as his maternal relatives were not what one might call accepting of mixed race marriage.

It was perfect—Hinata Springs was quiet, safe, and conducive to study. And, as Keitaro's father had cheekily pointed out, it certainly had its share of attractive and pointedly single women. Only minutes' travel away were enough mountains and forests and trails to keep even Keitaro's formidable skills razor sharp.

All plans, however, had their pitfalls, and this was no exception. Keitaro was a reasonably tolerant, accepting guy, being of mixed heritage, but Japan might not be. His command of the language was accented and imperfect to boot, so communicational difficulties were to be expected.

Beyond that, though, how was a biker that felt more Pakistani than anything else supposed to find a home, even for just a few years, in Kanagawa Prefecture?

* * *

At almost exactly six feet tall, Urashima Keitaro stood out from the crowd around him literally and immediately. Apart from his height, other differences between him and the general populace of Tokyo International Airport were blatant—his eyes were amber, and his inch or so long hair was a sort of dark auburn. Despite having lived completely in Islamabad for the past three years, however, he still sported fair skin—all in all, he wasn't exactly good looking, not by movie star standards. But he was fit and thin and had an endearing, lopsided smile, and there was definitely something very exotic about him. Japanese-Americans were not uncommon in places like Hawaii or parts of the West Coast—but in Japan, any mixed race individuals were likely to become the source of double- and even triple-takes.

His gait was slow, as if he was cautious of upsetting someone or crossing their path. Realistically, however, Keitaro preferred not to make abrupt movements due to a serious case of chronic clumsiness that affected him, bizarrely, whenever he_ wasn't_ on a bike.

He looked Japanese enough to not invite awkward questions, although there were a few stares. But by keeping to himself, he quickly appropriated his luggage and exited the airport without incident.

Culture shock hit him all at once the moment he stepped outside. Pakistan was a crowded nation; at least, the parts of Pakistan that Keitaro lived in were—but they didn't compare to Tokyo. People packed around him so densely that he felt he couldn't breathe and skyscrapers towered above him, almost so tall that he couldn't see where they ended.

For a moment, Keitaro was overwhelmed—but he got over it, and pulled a small index card out of his pocket.

"Hinata Inn, Hinata Springs, Kanagawa Prefecture…" he murmured to himself, memorizing the address, "alright… Dad said that it's a long trip by cab, because of traffic… eh, I might as well bike it up. I'm out of shape, anyway."

That final statement was true—by his standards, and his alone. It had been a long flight, and the last time he'd had an opportunity to stretch his legs was before his going-away party at home—well over a day ago.

Obviously, his bicycle had to be checked in. It was rather poorly protected by a simple cardboard box, and Keitaro had spent half the flight worrying that it had been broken by rough handling or turbulence, never mind the fact that it regularly survived twenty feet drops and worse, courtesy of its owner.

Still, it gave him a sense of relief when he finished pulling it out of its package—it was still in one piece.

Keitaro's bicycle was custom-built from the ground up by a small, but very exclusive and very reputable shop east of Seattle, Washington. It had cost over five thousand US dollars to build—but it was worth every penny. A titanium-alloy frame made it light but _strong_, and precision-milled workings meant that it never jammed, never rusted, never wasted any energy at all. Simply put, it was a dream machine—and, hopefully, it would win him entry to Tokyo University.

As Keitaro donned a full-face helmet built to fit his head perfectly, he got to thinking—why, since his earliest years, had he wanted to go to Tokyo University?

He clipped knee and elbow pads on over a pair of loose, practical cargo pants and an LL Bean sweatshirt—and decided, for the umpteenth time, that he wasn't sure. Perhaps it had something to do with Japan, or his aunt, or grandmother?... if so, he'd realize it soon enough. And even if he didn't, there were doubtlessly any number of other memories just waiting to be unearthed in the weeks and months and years ahead of him.

Now that he was fully prepared for a little ride, Keitaro had to be careful—many times, he'd jumped the gun and forgotten that his clumsiness didn't end until he was literally on the seat of his bike. He often fell flat on his face or got a leg twisted up in the chain of his machine—err, perhaps a bit more than often, now that he thought of it…

Grimacing at a plethora of unpleasant memories that suddenly surfaced, Keitaro swung a leg over his bike, _carefully_. The only possessions he'd brought with him were on his back, in a large, tough knapsack—he'd buy textbooks and other stuff in a day or so when he started to get settled in at his grandmother's inn.

For now, the, there was nothing to do but to get to Hinata Inn.

Keitaro's adrenal glands kicked in in a sudden but familiar and welcome manner as he nudged the stand of his bike away with his foot and started to pedal. Traffic during the Japanese rush hour was chaotic, but ordered—it couldn't compare to the unruly and quite dangerous streets of what he'd come to look upon as his hometown.

Fearlessly, the masked biker weaved through cars and pedestrians alike, harsh words, raised brows, and raised fingers resultantly. Within moments, he was going twenty, then twenty-five miles per hour, without so much as breaking a sweat—and this isn't taking into account his tendency to cut through tight back alleys and marketplaces, using the stunt pegs attached to his wheels to grind across handrails and park benches alike.

"_Maybe I will be able to get into Tokyo U,"_ Keitaro thought, as the city slowly began to fade into the distance behind him. _"If I do my best at studying and keep my biking skills up to par, I can get a good grade on the exam, and win the Yokohama Invitational—if I can do that, Tokyo U will let me in for sure. And then, maybe, I can… meet her again…"_

Japan was a nation of uncertainties and oddities to Keitaro. But as he made his way down a lonely road, flanked only by trees and distant, mist shrouded mountains, he started to realize that it was a nation of memories, too.

* * *

The closer he got to Hinata Springs, the more frequently he experienced powerful feelings of déjà vu and nostalgia. Keitaro's cell phone was GPS enabled, but he didn't need to take it out once—the moment he entered town, he found that despite the fact that it had been years since he'd last been there, he knew _exactly_ where to go.

Though he was badly in need of a thorough workout, Keitaro slowed down—the town was quiet, almost eerily so. Only a few people were in the streets, and none seemed to take notice of him—and that was odd. Tall, masked men on custom-built bicycles were liable to get stared at in any part of the world, let alone homogenous Japan.

He stopped for a moment, setting a foot on the ground to balance himself as he looked around. Everything about Hinata Springs was familiar—Keitaro found that he recognized not just the layout of the getaway town, but specific buildings and businesses. It was bizarre, but the picturesque streets of the hot springs town, with their quaint businesses and homes and the lack of vehicular and pedal traffic weren't just like something out of a dream—they were like something out of a _memory_.

Creepy… to his knowledge, he'd only made a few memories in Japan, and none of them were exactly important… save, perhaps, for one.

"_That's right… I made a promise with someone… a girl… to go to Tokyo University, didn't I?... I can't remember for certain. But it would explain why I want to study there so much… after all, I never seem to be popular with the ladies…" _he admitted to himself ruefully, acknowledging a life with a complete lack of female companionship… well, apart from his mother, but that didn't count.

"I'll have to ask Grandma Hina about this," Keitaro said out loud, as he pushed off, leisurely traveling towards the back alleys and outskirts of town. He knew they would lead him directly to his destination. "Maybe she knows something that I don't."

Shortly, Keitaro had to stop again, awed by the sight in front of him. Hinata Inn—it still seemed like a palace, though he was far bigger than he was the last time he'd seen the legendary building. He'd have to climb a large flight of stairs to get there (he could bike up, of course, but that would seem wild and rude—Keitaro had a good sense of dignity from his upbringing). The uphill climb skewed his sense of proportion, somewhat, but Keitaro knew that the inn was huge regardless. And, as he recalled, there were acres of land in the back, and some abandoned buildings as well. Maybe he could use some of them to practice his stunts… even if that was impossible, he'd certainly be allowed to bike around the private forest at will.

The thought brought a grin to Keitaro's face. Maybe feeling welcome in Japan wouldn't be so hard.

* * *

"Hello? Hello? Anybody home?"

Keitaro had left his bike and luggage out front, trusting that they wouldn't be stolen; Japan as a nation was known for its low incidence of crime and Hinata Springs was the sort of town that anyone that stole would be stealing from a family member or a friend. That was certainly a far cry from even the more affluent streets of Islamabad.

After waiting for a long moment, Keitaro entered the inn. He'd knocked more than a dozen times, and waited for at least five minutes—and the door was unlocked anyway, which meant that he was expected—after all, everyone locked their doors, even in Japan—right? He moved slowly, carefully, to decrease his chances of tripping and breaking a bone, or some irreplaceably priceless possession. He knew he was expected, but tt was quiet—too quiet for him to imagine that anyone was there.

Still, though, he had to check.

"Hmm, I suppose Grandma Hina got the time wrong, or something… or maybe she's going to try to surprise me, or something," he muttered to himself as he glanced inside several rooms—all were completely devoid of life, though several did look like people lived there. The flood of memories he was expecting to hit didn't come—it was like the inn itself wasn't of great consequence, but the people and events centered around it were.

Pondering this kept Keitaro's mind occupied for some minutes. By then, he'd searched the inn from top to bottom, albeit in a cursory manner—if Grandma Hina was still planning to spring a surprise on him, it was quickly becoming a rather tasteless, childish prank.

"Well, she is old," Keitaro said, mostly to keep himself from getting exasperated or frustrated at a relative he hadn't seen in over a decade. "It's natural that she makes little mistakes from time to time. Maybe she misunderstood things, and went to the airport to pick me up? I'd better call her—ah…"

A short attention span was one of the problems Keitaro had to overcome in order to be a Todaisei. He'd have to do that someday—but not that day. He'd do it some _other_ day.

You can't really blame him for procrastinating, though. He'd come to the back of the inn, and after sliding open a particularly large door, just to see what was behind it, he came upon Hinata Inn's famous hot springs.

Steam slowly rose from a water surface so still it looked like polished glass. Rocks, deep gray in color, smoothed by time and the pressure of endless feet surrounded the setup, along with plants that Keitaro didn't recognize, mostly—after all, they were Japanese—but a few strategically placed banzais here and there added the slightest element of artificiality to remind visitors that they were viewing the fruits of someone's labor, not the beauty of unadulterated nature.

Somehow, Keitaro managed to undress and rinse his body off using a nearby outdoor shower without falling and injuring himself. Shortly thereafter, he was enjoying himself: relaxing, lazily swimming, clad only in a brief towel and boxer shorts.

"This is great," he said, resting against the stone walls of the spring, feeling the hot water work the tension out of his muscles. He grinned. "If this is what life in Japan is like, I can see myself prospering here, and soon—I can study and bike all I want, and hang out here as much as I… oh, it looks like I'm no longer alone… damn, where did I put my glasses?... there… oh…" He felt around for the small article on the rock next to him and found it after a moment. He defogged them with a palm and then put them on to make better sense of the approaching silhouette—and then he froze.

The figure that was approaching him had long hair, slim shoulders, and curves—there was no way to mistake it, she was a girl. Steam blurred Keitaro's vision, so he couldn't see things as clearly as his nature as a man desired—but even then, he could tell that she wasn't just a girl, she was an attractive girl—model material easy.

For a minute, Keitaro's brain and heart activity flatlined, before resuming in full force. He blushed furiously, even as he tried not to stare—how had this happened? Was this a mixed bath or something?

Keitaro really couldn't ponder the societal effects of these things—being largely Pakistani by culture, he really wasn't used to seeing more feminine body parts than arms, calves, and faces, if that. Seeing a fully nude girl was, for him, a very new experience indeed.

Thus, we can't fairly blame him for not immediately getting up and leaving, or, at the very least, announcing his presence. Keitaro simply had no idea how to react without committing some major faux pas, or worse—so, red-faced, he merely sat, forcing himself to look at his hands; they were very interesting, exciting hands with lots of wrinkles and folds, certainly more worthy of attention than a young, curvy brunette that was getting closer and closer by the second…

"Ahh," she smiled, stretching, "I love taking baths in the afternoon. Total heaven! It's so relaxing." She'd taken a seat in the hot spring opposite Keitaro—fortunately, her bust was underwater by the time the fog cleared.

Keitaro didn't hear her, whoever she was, speak for a moment. So, he dared hope that she'd left—or that she hadn't been there at all. He'd had a long flight; clearly, he was hallucinating—he needed to take a nap and get something to eat, and then things would make sense again.

Unfortunately—well, depending on your point of view—none of this was to be.

"Hey, do you think my breasts have gotten bigger recently?"

Now, she was speaking from a position very, _very_ close to him. Keitaro was about to speak when he managed to flush harder still—he felt a silky soft hand trace from his shoulder to his chest. She was touching him now, and the very idea made him pinch his nose tight shut—he had an unfortunate tendency to have nosebleeds at, shall we say, troublesome times.

"I still can't compare to you, though…"

He finally found his voice when her hand was very close to touching something it really, really shouldn't have even been near.

"I, ahm, think you might have mistaken me for someone else."

"Huh? Kitsune?..."

There was a pause, during which Keitaro could practically taste the girl's dawning comprehension. He turned, just a little, watching her put on a pair of round, rather thick glasses—for some bizarre reason he felt the need to introduce himself, managing to do so in a relatively level, even formal voice.

"S-salaam—hello, my name is Urashima Keitaro, how do you do—"

He didn't get farther than that. Cut off by a scream of "pervert", or something similar to it, Urashima Keitaro decided that there was a time to introduce himself and a time to run like Hell. Now, it was time to opt for the latter. He jumped out of the water and sprinted—he almost stumbled on the slippery stones, but managed to hold his clumsiness at bay for the moment.

"I'm so sorry!" he called over his shoulder, rather sincerely—though he didn't stop running. "I thought—waghhh!"

He could only stay on his own two feet for so long. And yet—he'd _seen_ the bar of soap, carelessly left on out. He'd attempted to dodge, but, unhappily, that had completely failed. Now, he was waving his arms in desperate circles, hoping to not break a bone—

As it turned out, Keitaro didn't break a bone. He didn't even fall—at least, not onto the dangerously hard rock surface underfoot. For a full five seconds, he was utterly confused, wondering how he'd fallen into a bed filled with soft, fluffy, perfectly sized pillows—wait, these were pillows… right?

"Umm… can I help you?"

No, Keitaro slowly realized: they were not pillows.

"Forgive me!" he shouted in dismay. He backed away and prepared to dodge a very well-deserved slap—but the silver-haired, fox-eyed girl in front of him simply blinked and looked to the brunette behind him for explanation.

"Get him, Kitsune! He's the pervert!" At that, the second girl simply shrugged and grinned—but Keitaro saw none of this.

"You're mistaken!" Keitaro yelled, even as he ran for dear life. He headed back into the inn and tripped over something—immediately he had to brush at a series of soft clothes that had fallen all over him. He tried to fling one off his face when he realized that he was covered in underwear. Ladies' underwear.

Things kept going from bad to worse, it seemed.

He bolted past a short, dark-haired girl without looking back; he didn't have to see behind him to know that several more hostiles—all female—were pursuing him. This was going to Hell in a handbasket fast—but Keitaro had one hope. If only he could get to his bicycle… but no. Just as he'd gotten close to the front door, a figure in some sort of martial arts outfit cut him off with some sort of weapon in her hand, and Keitaro was forced to lunge to the side to avoid barreling headlong into her.

After a few frantic seconds, the chase took to the roof. Flanking Keitaro seemed to be an honest-to-God _samurai_ of some sort—the one who had cut him off downstairs—or perhaps he was just going insane. Perhaps Japanese air didn't agree with him or something and was worsening his obvious hallucination, but he had no time to entertain that possibility—he was running out of roof, and fast.

But stopping clearly wasn't an option. There was nowhere else to go but forward—and so Keitaro went forward. He closed his eyes and prepared to jump, shrieking Takbir in preparation for death—just as a skillfully wielded sword sliced through the air, blasting him cleanly off the roof and into oblivion.

For a second or so, he saw blue above and a whole jumble of colors below. Before he realized what had happened, though, or where he was, he plummeted into the ground. Then, he saw stars—but he managed to stumble to his feet and take off again.

Behind him, a disbelieving voice he matched to the first girl screamed. "What? He survived! Quick, let's get downstairs and finish the job!"

Shaking in fear of what might happen if they caught up to him again, Keitaro struggled to get his bearings—he was at the side of the inn, dangerously far from the front… and freedom.

"B-b-bicycle," he stammered, before redoubling his efforts. "It could be my only hope. I had no idea that Japan was so violent!"

He could hear the girls clomping down the stairs from the roof, howling for his blood, and prayed that he wouldn't trip again. As fortune would have it, he didn't, but they were closing in—if he made it to his bike, it would only be the skin of his teeth.

"Pervert! Lowlife!" He heard these insults shouted, and more, but his response wasn't more apologies or explanations—he just screamed and dived, while, he was sure, a devastating attack was prepared.

It was too late, though. Keitaro already had his feet on the pedals of his trusty machine by the time she'd pulled her fist back, twenty feet away, for what was certain to be a bone-breaking shot to the jaw or nose. Her eyes met his, and, for the briefest second, he thought that he somehow recognized her—but then he was off, speeding down the stairs far too quickly for the girl to follow.

A distant, jubilant shout of "Freedom!" was heard at the front of the inn as the rest of the girls joined Keitaro's primary pursuant. All save for the samurai girl and a dark-skinned blond were panting, exhausted—but without exception, they all stared at his retreating form until he vanished from view in the twisting crossroads of the town below.

"Son of a gun, that guy's fast," said the silver-haired girl, whose "pillows" Keitaro had inadvertently buried his face in. "Who d'you think he is, Naru? I didn' recognize him at all. Now that I think of it, he didn't even look Japanese…" She set her arm on the doorframe and sighed, trying to catch her breath—she definitely didn't know him at all. If she'd seen a face like that before, she would have remembered it.

"I'm not sure," said the long-haired brunette even as she fumed, fists still clenched in anger. "I've never seen him before in my life. Do any of you…?"

The other three girls all shook their heads. Damn—now that she thought of it, she concurred that he hadn't looked Japanese—not quite. He was a gaijan, and one of a kind in a place like Hinata Springs… so, if no one could place him off the top of their heads…

It was just as well for him that she probably wouldn't be able to find him. After all, he'd gotten a view of her to which he was most certainly _not_ entitled.

"We have to tell Haruka about this," the brunette suddenly snapped. "She'll know how to deal with a situation like this."

There was a nod of general assent. So the girls made their way downstairs, keeping an eye out for one another—the smallest of the bunch, who Keitaro had blown by in his rush to escape, stuck close to the sword wielding female, looking nervously around in case he came back.

They made it to the teashop without incident, though. There were only two customers sitting and chatting in a far corner of the simple establishment and the short, black-haired woman in her late twenties with an omnipresent cigarette in her mouth they were looking for was busy behind the counter, sweeping and counting the day's earnings.

She looked up, though, when the girls began to file in, and arched her brow. Something was up—she could tell.

"Haruka-san," said the tall, raven-haired female, "something has come up—we need to speak with you; now, if possible. It's… very serious."

The look in the kendo enthusiast's eye was unmistakable, so Haruka sighed, and nodded. "All right," she said, leaning forward, resting on her elbows as the girls sat down, "let's hear what happened…"

* * *

"I would never, ever have imagined that Japan was filled with so many dangerous women! I know the circumstances… weren't fortunate… I had no idea that it was a women's bath; I mean, the sign only said 'bath'… but they didn't give me a chance to explain myself! Y'Allah…"

Keitaro was bewildered and still wary of his surroundings, even as he dressed. He hadn't stopped biking until he was well over five miles away from the inn, at which point he'd realized that his towel only barely concealed his… modesty. He didn't feel cold, oddly, although that day seemed to be relatively bleak and Sunless—he just came to realize his state of undress when a passerby turned and stared at him as he passed for much longer than was a justifiable reaction for simple curiosity toward a man of Eurasian heritage.

Now, behind cover in a thick, misty forest, he thought out his next move—he certainly wasn't just going to go back to the inn; that was suicidal. What to do, though? Grandma Hina wasn't at home, and his parents were a few thousand miles away—no one could help him, except…

"Ah, that's it—Haruka-obasan! I can't believe I didn't remember that that teashop just in front of the inn was hers—she'll be able to tell me what's going on… Let's see, do I have her number?... yes. Perfect. She'll be able to clear this up."

Lifting his cellphone to his ear, Keitaro took a seat and relaxed. That was easy to do, since there weren't many cars around at all—he'd have to come back to the area, someday soon, for long-distance sprints. It was almost as if this sleepy little corner of Kanagawa had been constructed for bikers like him.

"Ah, hello, Haruka-obasan?... sorry, Haruka-san… yeah, it's me, your neph—cousin, Keitaro. …Yes, thanks, my flight was just fine, but... …no, not at all, until I… yeah. When I came to Hinata Inn, Grandma Hina wasn't there, do you know…? …Oh. Oh, sure, yes, I'll be right there. No, I'm only a few miles away… alright, Haruka-oba—sorry, Haruka-_san_… okay. See you soon."

With a sense of vague confusion conflicting with increasing curiosity, Keitaro pressed the end key on his phone and put his helmet on again. He hadn't gotten the chance to explain what had happened at the inn, but strangely enough, he didn't feel that he had to—it had somehow seemed that Haruka was one or two steps ahead of him already.

"_I wonder what that was all about,"_ Keitaro thought, as he mounted his bicycle again. _"'Come here right away, I'll explain everything…' Huh. I guess I'll find out what's going on soon enough... I hope I can apologize to those girls… even though they almost killed me…"_

After a moment of thought, though, Keitaro decided that he didn't hold that against them. After all, he was the foreigner, the outsider; he was the one that had—presumably—made the mistake here. And if something like this had happened back at home… he shuddered to think of the repercussions.

"_Hopefully, first impressions aren't the only ones that matter, here,"_ he thought. _"Hopefully."_

He started to pedal back to the inn. Never mind how close he'd come to death—his relative had told him to come and to come quickly, and, so, he would.

* * *

"Keitaro!... call me Haruka-san. …This is really you, right? Good. How was your flight? Did you have any trouble?... Do you have our address?... oh, I think I… Wait. Wait. Can you come to my teashop? Do you need to be picked up, or can you get a cab? Good. Then, I'll see you soon—that's Haruka-_san_. Alright? Then, see you soon."

When Haruka finished speaking and hung up the phone, she took a drag from her cigarette and returned to the counter from the shop's back room to a roomful of wide eyes.

"…What are you all staring at?"

"Nothing, Haruka-san," Motoko answered after a moment. "Respectfully… it's just that we've never heard you speak so much before."

The faintest touch of a smile appeared on the chain-smoker's lips.

"I guess you're wondering who I was speaking to," she said. Though only Su answered by nodding rapidly, until a rather embarrassed Shinobu stopped her from revealing that they were all, in fact, eavesdropping on her, Haruka knew that they were all curious.

"I think I know who your little 'peeping tom' was," the raven-haired woman eventually said, before actually, fully smiling for a moment. "And I think that we also need to prepare for a new resident."

"Eh?" they all replied, collectively. Haruka knew characters like that—and a new resident was coming to the inn? These were two shocking revelations, that, it seemed, wouldn't be shortly explained. Haruka's lips were zipped, as she got back to the endless task of sweeping her shop clean—the girls somehow sensed that they weren't being dismissed, and so they began to take seats at a few tables near the counter, ordering several drinks (and, in Suu's case, a few full meals as well).

After she'd served the orders, though, Haruka's face hardened—not at them, though, nor even at Keitaro but rather at her grandmother. The crazy old lady…

"Of all the times to drop everything and go vacationing…"

* * *

At first, Keitaro had done as he'd been told, and headed directly towards the Haruka's teashop—then, though, he'd paused and then stopped and then chained his bike up in town. He was going to see his aunt for the first time in fifteen years—he needed to fix himself up a little.

He then took advantage of the Japanese's well-deserved reputation for almost obsessive cleanliness and disappeared into a public bathroom. When he came out, his hair had been combed, his face washed, and he'd changed from his comfortable travel clothes into a black shirt and cargo pants. In the process, he'd taken off his protective gear, which was quite rare: at home, Keitaro commonly went around with it on all day. After all, why not?

It didn't take him long to get back to back streets of Hinata Springs. As he got closer, his trepidation only grew—by the time he was in sight of the tea shop, he was downright nervous. He and parked his bike outside, though, and moved forward slowly, keeping his eyes on the inn—if an attempt was made on his life again, that's where it would come from. Apart from that, there was no real activity in the tea shop… it didn't seem to be too busy, Keitaro could only see a few silhouettes inside. Perhaps this was an off-hour.

All at once, he was at the shop's door—he'd gotten past the inn safely. After taking a deep, calming breath, he slowly opened the door—and stepped inside.

For all of half a second, he'd gotten to admire the simplistic, modern décor of the interior before his gaze had turned down and given him a view of who was inside.

And then he froze.

"You…!"

In a second, two girls—the two most determined of his pursuers—were on their feet: the brunette, and the katana-wielding samurai girl. Instantly, Keitaro tried to back away. He tripped, however, and found his back against the door, which opened inwards. To get away, he'd have to move forward, and something told him that the only chance for survival he had didn't at all involve making anything like an advance.

"L-let's not be hasty! It was all a big misunderstanding—an accident! No! Mercy!"

"Mercy?" the brunette said, angrily, preparing for what looked like the punch of the century. "How dare you enter a girls' dormitory and look at… my chest…" she turned pink at that, but her friend spoke up as the rest of the girls looked on, waiting for the blood to flow.

"You have an accent… you're a foreigner, eh." The samurai girl stepped forward and pressed her sword against Keitaro's neck. There was a malicious glint in her eye, one that made Keitaro shake in his boots.

"You wanted to see Japanese girls?... too bad. The last thing you'll see before you die is my blade—"

"W-wait…" he said, suddenly more curious than fearful. "G-girls'… dormitory?"

"Yes, _g-g-g-girls' d-d-d-dormitory_," the brunette sneered. "Can't you read? It's written right in front of the building!" She cracked her knuckles again and stepped forward—perhaps the samurai girl was wrong; it might be that the last thing he saw on Earth was hot flesh rather than cold steel.

But for a moment, Keitaro paused, thinking hard. He seemed to trace a few kanji symbols into the air… before his face went white.

"_Oh, son of a…"_

"I… forgive me," he said quietly. "I can't read Japanese very well; I mistook the 'girls'' character… …wait, girls' dormitory? Why would my aunt and grandmother invite me to stay at a _girls'_ dormitory?"

That got a reaction from all of the girls. Even the most aggressive of them all—the brunette and the samurai had to blink and look at one another, at least for a second, before positively staring at the unfamiliar man before them. Actually, he did look remotely similar to—

"Haruka-obasan?"

"Keitaro? Is that you?"

Slowly, Keitaro stood up straight, ignoring the vicious weapon at his throat. He stepped past the two girls, without really noticing it—was he really speaking to his cousin?

Though they'd last seen each another some fifteen years ago, they recognized each another immediately. And after a moment of staring, in a somewhat unwonted move, Haruka held her arms out—just a little.

After running to his aunt suddenly, enthusiastically, Keitaro misinterpreted her intentions. After placing a hand over his heart in formal greeting, he vigorously shook her hand in both of his, grinning widely.

"It's been so long, Haruka-obasan! It's great to see you again."

"Yeah, same," she replied, attempting to maintain a casual tone as her arm was rapidly pumped, before she suddenly caught her nephew in a tight, rather painful headlock. "And call me Haruka-san. I'm not an old lady."

"Ouch-yes, yes, sorry, Haruka-san. How have you been? How's Grandmother Hina—_where_ is Grandmother Hina?"

After releasing her nephew—technically, her cousin—Haruka noticed just how tall he really was. He towered by at least a half head over even Motoko, the tallest of the girls. His eyes were an almost glowing hue of amber, in stark contrast with the varying shades of brown of the rest of the shop's occupants, and his hair had a palatable tint of red in it. He was actually pretty good-looking, and as he calmed, merely smiling, he stood straight with perfect posture in a rather stately manner.

Certainly, he didn't seem like the peeping tom type; and now that they were able to get a good, long, relatively unbiased and calm look at Keitaro, even his worst enemies—the brunette and the katana wielder—had to admit that.

"Oh, forgive me…" he said, turning, facing the rest of the girls, albeit in a slightly wary fashion. "Allow me to introduce myself—I'm Urashima Keitaro… Haruka-san's nephew—cousin—and Grandmother Hina's grandson. It's very nice to meet you. And… sorry about… you know." He made a feeble gesture toward the brunette, before wincing and turning away.

The shock of seeing Haruka being remotely affectionate to anyone hadn't worn off—skepticism or worse couldn't yet take root. At least he wasn't being attacked again, though. Even the most dangerous two of them all seemed to be confused, for the moment, as if they were deciding if, rather than how, to end his life.

Still—in Keitaro's book, this was a victory, albeit a small one.

Haruka cleared her throat, then, and stepped forward. Everyone was starving for an explanation, and they all deserved one.

"We all need to discuss a few things, about my nephew, Grandma Hina, and the dorm itself. Something unexpected happened recently… Keitaro, make yourself at home in the resident manager's room. I'll be over in a few minutes when the shop closes—and I'll find you safe and unmolested." Those last few words were accompanied with a meaningful glare directed at the samurai girl and the brunette—who, after a moment, reluctantly acknowledged the implied order with a nod apiece.

"Good. And Keitaro," she said, stifling a smile at the terrified expression still on her younger cousin's face, as he looked at his two most devoted haters, "if you find any more confusing signs… this time, get someone to read them for you before making any assumptions."

* * *

Haruka told him where to find the resident manager's room, but oddly enough, she only needed to get halfway through the directions before Keitaro knew exactly where to go. So, he'd left the shop, still in a relatively good mood from seeing his cousin, and after picking up his backpack and bike, he was on his way. This meant that he entered the dorm well after the girls had had a few moments to vanish from sight, to avoid the temptation of violence—thank God for that.

After a few seconds admiring a building he hadn't been to for a lifetime, Keitaro was in the room he'd been told to take. He was then free to unpack what few clothes he had and check out his immediate surroundings.

The room was classically Japanese—bare bones and simple, with few furnishings, but for his purposes that was perfectly acceptable. Perhaps a few homely touches, such as a Persian rug and maybe a framed photo of his parents and friends wouldn't be amiss—but besides that, the room was great. It was reasonably large and offered a stunning view of the forest and mountains behind the inn-turned-dorm—once Keitaro had opened the balcony door and stepped out, he'd had to tear his gaze away from things in order to get back to what had to be done.

* * *

Narusegawa Naru was pissed off and to a degree, this was understandable. She wasn't hopping with rage, anymore, but she certainly wasn't satisfied with the way things were going. It really, really didn't strike her as appropriate for Haruka to so readily brush off the undeniable fact that an enemy combatant—that is, a man—had entered a girls' dormitory, gone into the hot springs, and looked at her in her state of undress.

The memory still made her seethe—and, despite everything, blush as well.

She was pacing back and forth in her room, unable to sit calmly and figure things out. To her knowledge, everyone else was in her respective room—they'd all just filtered back into the inn, looked at one another, oddly, and then broke apart. Even Motoko didn't seem like she was going to go against Haruka, and, so Naru wouldn't—but that didn't mean that she had to like things.

Worst of all, the bastard as directly below her. The thought made her stare at the floor—maybe if she glared enough, she could split it in half with the sheer force of her will… no, perhaps not.

Finally, Naru sighed. She would have sat down, then, but her name was being called. It looked like Haruka was back… what could she want?

* * *

The last one to get downstairs was Keitaro himself. This was defensible—although he wasn't on the top floor, his room was farthest from the front of Hinata Inn. Apart from that, he had delayed leaving by just a few seconds, when he'd heard that everyone else had been called down as well. He didn't want to test his luck by being with any of the girls out of Haruka's sight for any amount of time.

As it was, he found himself walking downstairs almost directly behind the fiery brunette whose fists of fury had nearly smashed him into oblivion. Immediately, he felt guilty—as a result, he almost fell forward before catching himself on the handrail and shivering, imagining where his face may have landed if he'd been a second slower. For a brief second, Keitaro's gaze lingered on the curves hidden by the brunette's knee-length skirt… maybe he should have been just a split-second slower…

He shook his head to clear his mind of such thoughts. Then, he was in front of Haruka and who he could only assume were the residents of the inn—no, the dorm, he reminded himself.

Now that there wasn't any undue tension in the air, Keitaro had a chance to look over the girls, and they had a chance to look back at him.

One of the smallest two—she couldn't be older than fourteen—seemed particularly wary of him. He could barely see a pair of big puppy eyes below short-cut, sleek black hair before she took refuge behind who seemed to be the resident samurai of the place.

She confused him almost as much as she intimidated him. Did she always go around with her uniform on?... maybe she'd just not bothered to take it off after practice, but she'd had more than one or two minutes to chance into different clothes since Haruka had dismissed everyone into the inn.

Maybe she was a fanatic about her sport, just like he was. Maybe they could get along and even find common ground someday—with that thought in mind, Keitaro looked into her eyes for a moment and smiled, in a friendly sort of manner.

He was rebuked with a glare, and, stung, he looked to the next girl.

Many Japanese would have thought that she was Indian. After all, her complexion was a deep copper—but Keitaro had lived in Pakistan for most of his life, and he knew for damn sure that the small, blond-haired girl didn't trace her ethnic roots to anywhere in South Asia. Her features weren't Caucasian, for one thing—and the few green-eyed blondes in South Asia were universally fair-skinned. He'd have to talk to her, soon—and hey, she seemed relatively friendly, even to him. She didn't break eye contact when he looked at her, and she even smiled back.

The next girl reminded Keitaro immediately of a fox. Her features were sharp, for a Japanese, although she seemed to have her eyes half-shut by choice, there was a shrewd cunningness about her that he couldn't mistake. Light brown hair suggested dying… that wasn't popular in Japan, but then, neither was plastic surgery and there was no way that those were natural—Keitaro felt himself flush and immediately forced calm by looking her in the face and nodding, politely.

Her response was just a knowing, rogueish grin. She was definitely quite foxy indeed…

The last girl was the only one to his left, and, unfortunately, he felt he knew her all too well already. Looking at her apologetically, however, earned him no respite—she just huffed and turned her nose up at him, but he could hardly blame her for that. Even as he looked her over, he made up his mind—he'd have to find some way to meaningfully apologize to her, and soon. He abhorred the idea of being hated, and righteously so—accidents aside, he had seen her naked. That wasn't acceptable at all… and besides, she was a pretty good-looking girl. It wouldn't be nice to be on less than friendly terms with her…

And then of course there was Haruka. With fair skin and features not so dissimilar from his, one could guess, after a moment, that they were closely related. She wasn't bad looking, for a woman in her thirties, but Keitaro didn't look at her in that manner. They were cousins, after all—the only sort of love in his eyes when he looked at her was the sort that there was no shame in showing.

Haruka cleared her throat, then, and looked at the motley group around her. This wasn't going to be easy to explain—what with Motoko, and Naru, and the fact that Keitaro had been involved in a… misunderstanding with at least two of them. But she had to do it.

She sighed and began to speak. "You already know that this is my cousin Keitaro. Sorry for not telling you about him earlier, but we haven't seen each other since he was about this tall." Haruka held her hand at roughly knee-level—this was no exaggeration, though. Although Keitaro was tall now, when he had been younger, he'd been something of a runt.

"So, Keitaro… why don't you say a few words to introduce yourself?"

Keitaro felt somewhat nervous—did he really have to? Public speaking had never been one of his strong points, and he wasn't in a room of friends or neutral parties. At least two of the people there had tried to kill him just minutes before. He gave a pleading look to Haruka, but she just stared blankly back at him—she hated speaking even more than he did.

And so Keitaro stepped forward and looked around at everyone. He smiled a little and then began to speak in a fairly nervous tone. It was clear that he was intimidated—very, _very_ intimidated.

"H-hello everybody, I'm Urashima Keitaro. M-most people call me 'Kei'… I, uhm, am Grandmother Hina's grandson, and Haruka-oba—Haruka-_san_'s n-n-n-_cousin_, and my father is Granny H-H-Hina's son…"

This wasn't going well. The brunette had locked a gaze on him that plainly said exactly what was on her mind—she wanted him dead, then and there, and Haruka's presence was only barely holding her back from a vicious, fatal assault. Apart from that, he was making an ass of himself by stuttering every other word—already, the short ravenhead in the corner seemed more amused of him than frightened by him.

Keitaro closed his eyes for a brief second and took in a deep breath. That calmed him down; it was a routine he repeated before every race—it had never failed him before and it didn't fail him then.

"My father works for the Japanese government; he's part of an attachment to the embassies in Islamabad and Washington DC." That statement seemed to engender curiosity—he could see it in the girls' eyes, after deciding that he had been hearing things when the blonde had asked what an Islamabad was, and if it was good to eat.

"I've lived in Pakistan for most of my life… sometimes we go to DC—we have a great house in northern Virginia, and I have a few friends there whose parents work permanently at the DC embassy. I'm here in Japan to meet my father's relatives, since we haven't seen each other since I was three. Also—I've wanted to go to Tokyo University for ages, so when Grandmother Hina heard about that, she suggested that I come and stay here in Hinata Springs."

At that point, there was a minor side conversation. The silver-haired vixen looked up and then spoke discretely to her friend.

"Todai, eh?... Naru, isn't that your first choice too? Hey, maybe you could form a study team with him. Who knows how much work you two might get done alone, together, late at night…"

Keitaro didn't hear that, fortunately—but Naru couldn't shut her ears to her friend's teasing so easily. She flushed again, and glowered at the fox-girl before returning her attention to the gaijan.

"I've only looked over the mock exams and past exams, but I think I can do well enough overall to make up for bad grades in Japanese… even though my dad says I can speak it fine, I can't get the kanji down. And even if I can't do that great on the exam…"

Keitaro's eyes took on a distant, hopeful look. He wasn't looking at anyone in the room, anymore—he seemed to be looking directly into the future with nothing other than confidence and a hunger to achieve, and, somehow, when he looked like that, he managed to give everyone there just a taste of what he saw.

"I'm a biker. I love biking—street biking and stunt BMX stuff is fine, but what I really love is _mountain_ biking. Every day at home, whether I'm in DC or Islamabad, I do at least thirty kilometers—usually fifty or more. It's great—and my parents let me go on trips all the time, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends. I've been biking in Chitral, Kashmir, and Baluchistan a few times each, and in Washington State with my American friends just last year. I'm pretty good," he said, speaking almost too fast for his Japanese skills to support. "They've written a few articles about me in some magazines, after I won a few big races in America… biking isn't that big in Pakistan, but I've won a few races there, too. That's why I'm going to compete in the Yokohama Invitational—have any of you heard of it?"

There were a few scattered nods, but Keitaro could see that even those that who heard of the epic race hadn't heard much about it. So, still enthusiastic, he managed to make eye contact with everyone else in the room in turn as he explained.

"The Yokohama Invitational is a huge mountain bike race, and not just for Japanese bikers. People come from all over to compete—last year's winner was a guy from Chile, and the one before that was from America. Anyway, like I said, it's huge—it's the Mecca of the mountain biking world. There's a prize of 20 million yen, plus advertisements, endorsements, fame—a bunch of the winners in the past have gone professional and become full time bikers—they actually get paid to go biking, can you imagine that?... anyway, if I win the Yokohama Invitational, or even just place well… Tokyo U should be a little lenient about my grades."

He was actually breathing a little hard by the time he finished that. Talking about biking always got Keitaro pumped, never mind that he was talking to people who probably had never been off-road in their lives before. He could tell that some of his excitement had rubbed off on the surrounding women, perhaps some more than others—but even the brunette seemed fairly interested in what he had to say by the time he was finished speaking. He really did think he'd reached out to everyone present—after all, his ambitions were so sincere and pure, who wouldn't be inspired by such drive?

A cold-sounding snicker made Keitaro turn and face the brunette. She smirked at him—and then spoke. "The Yokohama _Invitational_… what makes you think they'll even let a lowlife like you in? People like you must be a dime a dozen… I doubt anyone in charge of something so important has even heard of you."

"I've already been invited," Keitaro replied, stung. "I was last year, too…"

She only needed a second to adjust her attack. "Right," the brunette sneered. "If you were invited last year, why didn't you go?"

"I didn't feel like I was ready for it."

"And you do now?"

"Sure. I've gotten in a lot more practice, and besides, I'm eighteen. There would have been a big scandal if they tried to let a minor compete—this race is pretty dangerous. People get broken bones and worse, all the time… a few years ago, someone even died."

That shut her up, at least for the moment—and it put the level of Keitaro's plans in perspective. Until then, all of the girls had had a pretty innocent vision of his sport. Mountain biking was still just biking, after all, so it couldn't be that bad. But if the best of the world in biking got injured, and even killed… the Yokohama Invitational had to be pretty dangerous indeed.

The brunette was still looking at him untrustingly, but she didn't say anything more. Keitaro turned away from her—and saw that the foxy lady had a question for him.

"You said you wanted to go to Tokyo University… what major?"

"That, I haven't decided. My dad's always wanted me to follow in his footsteps… and I really like what he does, but I want to take some classes, and talk to some professors and graduate students before I make any permanent decisions. I'll probably end up doing something with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs… maybe I won't do exactly the same as my father, but something like it. Err… does that answer your question?"

She nodded, then, but Keitaro could tell she was still curious about something. He waited for a moment—she didn't ask anything else, so he could only assume that his Japanese had been subpar. Haruka, though, knew exactly what was on the vixen's mind—she wanted to know how much money he was planning on pulling down.

"Why… are we supposed to care about all this?"

Keitaro turned, planning, automatically, to answer that question. When he saw who had asked it, however, he realized that it was simply a rhetorical device. The brunette's fists were half-clenched and the expression on her face was quite poisonous—involuntarily, he flinched and took a step back.

"So what if you're some kind of biker? Who cares what you want for a career—"

"Naru," Haruka's warning voice was enough to stop the brunette in her tracks. She'd never needed to really show her temper in front of the girls—but if she had to, she wouldn't hesitate. And the sort of insolence that was being displayed toward her relative was simply intolerable.

Once the brunette had cooled down, resorting to simply glaring at Keitaro rather than verbally bashing him, Haruka continued, this time in a level, somewhat disinterested tone.

"Anyway… I guess you're all wondering what all this has to do with you. Keitaro said that the plan is for him to stay in Hinata Springs… that's true, but that's not all. He's supposed to stay here—"

"What—"

"—in Hinata Inn itself."

"No way!"

This time, the brunette was not alone in her opposition. Until then, the samurai girl that Keitaro had regarded as at least as dangerous as her, albeit less aggressive, had been politely quiet. But now she too raised her head, angrily, although the tightness in her eyes was directed at Haruka rather than Keitaro, who simply stood, awkwardly, as if he'd like to slip away and disappear.

"This is a girls'—_girls'_—dorm, Haruka-san! It doesn't matter that he's your cousin, or Granny Hina's grandson—he's still a guy, and a twisted pervert of a guy at that. I mean, come on! Do any of you honestly, _seriously_ believe he happened to read the sign wrong? His Japanese is perfect!"

"She's right, Haruka-san." The samurai's girl cool-headedness immediately followed the brunette's fiery assault. She calmly made her case, although her passion in the issue was obvious. "It's immoral for a male to stay at a girls-only dormitory, period. Even if what happened earlier was… a complete accident," she said that in a manner that made it clear how unlikely she thought that was, "it's not acceptable, not in a thousand years."

Haruka was about to put both of the girls in their place. But Keitaro, of all people, stopped her.

"Haruka-san… they're both right."

That surprised everyone present, even himself, to a degree. Was he really making a case against himself—against living with a number of incredibly attractive women in a beautiful, quiet town, for free? Living in Pakistan for most of his life had given him a very traditional sense of morality, but this was pushing it. Yet, he continued to speak.

"It was an accident—and I'm very, truly sorry for that—but even if it hadn't happened, it still wouldn't be right to stay in a girls' dormitory. It's—imagine if things were switched around, and there was a girl in a position to stay at an all-male dormitory. That definitely wouldn't be right, would it?" An analogy like that was somewhat shocking, and extremely effective as well. No one present would ever stay at an all-male dormitory, no matter how closely they were related to the owner or how convenient and cheap it was.

There was silence, for a moment. Then, Keitaro sighed. Things never worked out, did they?...

"I'll just stay somewhere in town, Haruka-san. I'll come and visit you and Grandmother Hina all the time—wait a second, where _is_ Grandmother Hina?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you—I don't know."

"What?"

Keitaro wasn't the only one that made that last exclamation. The girls did as well, and it was easy to tell why. Granny Hina, missing?... and yet, Haruka seemed so calm. What was going on?

"Granny Hina sent me an email this morning… she's decided to go traveling and she doesn't know when she'll be back. She also sent me these…"

Haruka took out a large manila envelope and handed it to Keitaro. Of course, he would have preferred to open it later, privately—but something about the way Haruka looked at him told him that he ought to see what was in it now.

Feeling all eyes on him, Keitaro nodded, vaguely, and unfastened the envelope's covering flap. He then pulled out a small packet of legal documents, and sifted through them, briefly, before looking up—confusion was his only expression.

"It's… a transfer of ownership. I… own Hinata Inn, and the surrounding grounds and properties."

What that meant didn't seem to sink in to Keitaro, or the rest of the girls. So, Haruka just nodded and explained, leaning against the wall in annoyance. Her mother could never make life simple, could she?

"It's conditional. You can only legally own Hinata Inn if you act as the resident manager… you'll have to live here and take care of the buildings, grounds, finances, and so forth. There's a letter attached—I didn't read it, but if I know Granny Hina, she's said some nonsense about how the only way to learn about the real world is through experience."

By that point, Keitaro had sorted out the documents inside the envelope and found that what Haruka had said was indeed true.

"Word for word," he said. He felt his breath catch in his throat—this was not good, seriously not good at all. This kind of a responsibility, dropped into his lap all at once—

"N-n-n-n-n-no way, Haruka-san! I can't—this is—you have to tell Granny Hina that this is impossible—"

"I already tried," Haruka said sympathetically. "She didn't reply to my emails, and her cell phone's service has been ended, and I don't know how else to get in touch with her."

"Th-then you have to take control of this," he sputtered furiously. "You're her legal daughter, right? You should be able to do something about it."

"Granny Hina would never make something like this that easy to get out of," Haruka said in a somewhat irritated tone. "She might be old, but she's not senile—she's a lot smarter than any of us can imagine. Keitaro… you'd better do what she wants."

"There has to be _some_thing that can be done." Now, it was the brunette who was speaking, red-cheeked and assertive as ever. She looked at Haruka almost fiercely, and pounded her fist into her palm as she continued. "Alright, maybe he has to be the owner, and the manager—he can just stay somewhere else and hire a cleaning service or something."

"Nice try, Naru, but the documents say 'resident manager'. You can try to battle out the exact definition in court if you want," Haruka shrugged, "but I wouldn't recommend it. I only brought the overview—the rest of the legalese is saved to a USB drive because I didn't have enough paper to print it all out."

Misery loved company, apparently, because it lifted Keitaro's spirits the slightest amount to see that his rapidly growing sense of dismay was shared. Apart from the two most ferocious of the girls, however, everyone seemed to tentatively accept things. Apparently, Grandmother Hina's word counted for a lot around here.

"But I haven't even signed any papers," Keitaro said weakly, as a final form of protest. "What if I don't want to own Hinata Inn?"

"Then it gets turned over to the state," Haruka sighed. "Who knows what'll happen then, but I guarantee that it won't be a cheap girl's dorm any more. Maybe the Ministry of Foreign Affairs will take it over and use it to woo oil sheikhs from your country," she jibed.

"But there are no oil sheikhs in Pakistan," Keitaro grumbled. "There's not even any oil."

"I guess that settles it then," Haruka said briskly. "Keitaro is now the _kanrinin_ of Hinata Inn. I'll send you a list of what you have to do later—but don't worry, it's not that much. You'll be able to study and bike to your heart's content if you manage your time. Oh yeah—you don't know anyone's name yet…"

Keitaro's shoulders slumped. It looked like there was no way to get out of this whatsoever… he'd just have to make lemonade, it seemed. After just a second, he regained his composure and stood up straight, plastering on a positive expression as he looked to the first girl.

"Um, my name's Maehara Shinobu. Pleased to meet you…"

That was the small raven-head. Looking at her reminded Keitaro a bit of a frail mouse, owing to her big eyes and extremely pale skin. But he wasn't one to judge so quickly—after all, he'd gotten plenty of jibes over the years due to his own height and weight (or lack thereof—bicycling burned a load of calories, after all).

"I'm Kaolla Su. We're going to have plenty of fun soon!"

"_Hyper,"_ Keitaro noted to himself, trying not to be intimidated. This one was thirteen or so—the same age as Shinobu—and with blonde hair, green eyes, and a deep tan, Keitaro couldn't help but wonder about her. He wasn't sure what to make of her just yet.

"My name is Aoyama Motoko. Welcome to Japan, Urashima-san."

Keitaro nodded, politely, and placed a hand on his heart as he offered her a brief bow. She was the samurai-girl—no, that wasn't quite it. She wasn't wearing any sort of armor, and besides, there was no such thing as a female samurai. Maybe she was just obsessed with martial arts?... no, that wasn't quite it either. She was into martial arts for sure, but it was more than a hobby for her… more like a lifestyle. He'd have to learn more about her—but carefully. He somehow doubted that they could build bridges that quickly…

"I'm Konno Mitsune, sugar. Call me Kitsune. I'm lookin' forward to getting to know you, real soon."

Keitaro couldn't help but flush the smallest bit as the busty vixen winked at him. She, he would have to watch out for. He could tell that she wasn't a seductress, not exactly, but she definitely seemed like the kind of girl that wasn't afraid of using her looks to get her way. Keitaro would have to show her sooner or later that he wasn't the kind of guy for her to mess around with—in any sense of the phrase.

And now it was time for the brunette to introduce herself. It was clear, though, that no matter what everyone said, no matter what Granny Hina wanted—she didn't approve of what was going on one little bit. Her arms were folded and she pointedly refused to make eye contact with Keitaro.

He winced, inwardly. He didn't like things much more than she did—and he'd apologize to her soon enough. Surely she could just accept things for the moment?...

She seemed to come to the same conclusion that he did. For now, she'd go along with things, but she'd never really give up—in other words, she was sacrificing the battle so that she might win the war. She was going to see him out of the inn, one way or the other—and she would also have her revenge for the undue liberties he'd taken with her.

And so the brunette smile, in a way that made Keitaro shiver when she looked at him.

"I'm Narusegawa Naru," she said. "Welcome to Hinata Inn. I hope you… _enjoy_… your time here as much as I do."

* * *

(I encourage you to review, and tell me what you liked, hated; what you want to see in the future and any ideas you might have for this fic.)


	2. Chapter 2

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Two

* * *

(Reception was good, and so, I continue. I think I ought to mention, by the way, that this is in no way a self-insertion. Just for example, I haven't been on a bicycle in… I can't even remember how long. Plus, the Keitaro depicted in this fic is not really similar to myself—he's not spooky at all, for one thing. :D

I will approximate Kitsune's kansai accent as, of course, a Southern accent. There will be minor uses of foul language, as well as somewhat sexual situations—this is a harem manga universe, after all! Now then, enjoy.)

* * *

The air was fresh and clear and a little cold, but Keitaro couldn't have it any other way—not at ten feet off the ground, moving at an easy thirty miles an hour.

His jump ended with an impact that would have broken the bones of most cyclists—as well as their machines—but Keitaro and his bike were one organism, just then, designed by God Himself to cut down the mountainside.

Of late, he'd taken an interest in YouTube, and after getting a few guys in Islamabad to tape him doing tricks and things in the city, Kei had gotten somewhat of a following on the massive video site. That's why he'd bought a special camera, designed to be attached to his helmet. It was an expensive thing, but Keitaro got it for free—the manufacturer had dismissed the price when Keitaro promised to give him a shout out on his YouTube channel.

The slight weight above and to the right of his head escaped his notice entirely. When his blood was pumping through his veins almost as fast as his legs pumped down on the pedals, nothing mattered to Keitaro except the wilderness, and the best way through it—everything else was simply unimportant.

The camera didn't pick up much, in terms of sound. Breathing was recorded, as well as the cracking of downed branches as Keitaro drove over them, but the main attraction was the picture itself. When the video was uploaded, anyone who watched would get a first-person view of what the best in the world of mountain biking were capable of.

There were few jumps Keitaro found, but he took them at full speed, kicking off the ground to launch himself into the air—maybe later he'd slow those parts down and add in some sort of sound effect to maximize the feeling of gravity defying freedom. For now, though, all Keitaro wanted to do was ride, ride and ride some more, until it was too dark or he was too tired or the Earth itself split open to tell him to stop.

* * *

"How long has he been doing that, sempai?"

"Mm, gotta be a few hours by now, Shinobu-chan. After Haruka-san left, he went upstairs for, I dunno, two minutes. Then he came back down in some kind of protective outfit… think he's been out there since then."

"Huh. Then it can't be much longer until he gets a broken neck."

Khan believes that he doesn't need to explicitly state who said that last line—we all know, and hate, the only one who's regularly that cruel.

The girls were gathered, of course, outside, and in the hot springs. The Sun hadn't quite set yet; there was just enough light left in the sky to lend an intimate, almost magical feel to the place. Naru and Motoko were sipping at two still-hot glasses of tea—Kitsune's drink of choice was, of course, sake, cold and straight.

They were all different in a thousand ways—in fact, it was hard to say what most of them had in common. And yet they all got along, somehow held together by the magic that flowed freely through all of Hinata Inn and its surrounding properties. They didn't question it, didn't test it—they just acknowledged it, silently, and appreciated it, like they appreciated one another.

"How do you think he does it, though? I mean, from the sounds of things, he's going pretty fast—and for this long. I guess that's how he got so skinny, but damn. He's got some kind of stamina; kinda makes ya wonder how he is in be—"

"When you're doing something so important to you," Motoko said calmly, "it's easy to go beyond what your body is normally capable of. It happens to me all the time—every morning, in fact, when I practice my katas."

There was silence, for a brief moment—silence, save for the distant whirring of wheels running out of lubricant fast.

"So… this is interesting," Kitsune said. She stretched upward, briefly, and those looking directly at her averted their eyes. When she moved like that, her chest rose a bit above the water line. "A guy at Hinata Inn… that's really somethin', isn't it? Gotta be the biggest thing that's happened around here in some time."

"Huh. Big deal." The brunette at the vixen's side was still moody—her arms were folded, crossly, and she didn't look anyone in the eye. "So what if he's Granny Hina's grandson? This is wrong, and we have to do something about it. Kitsune, you write for a paper, right? Maybe you could do an op-ed about the falling standard of morality in Japan—"

"Fat chance, sugar," the vixen interrupted. "I just got that job, and I don't want to ruin it so quickly by pulling something like that."

"Then—Motoko, maybe you can do something about this. If you told your family about this, I'm sure they'd act. They're powerful enforcers of the law—and this clearly goes against every martial artist's code of honor that I know of. They can get him out of here—right?"

Motoko actually considered, for a moment, before shaking her head. "I'm afraid not, Narusegawa-san. My family might not like this at all, but Hinata Inn is normally not under our jurisdiction. I'll check our laws, but I don't think I can attack Urashima in any way, unless he does something that truly crosses the line."

"Like peeping on us?"

"That would truly cross the line, Narusegawa-san. I'd give him a thrashing he'll feel in his next life."

That answer satisfied Naru, but not very much. She wanted him out, out, _out_, dammit, and she would do whatever it took to get him out—but her course of action was unclear. She couldn't just beat him up without specific provocation… and she couldn't directly bully him either, or he might simply use his power as the resident manager and kick her out—that was the last thing she wanted. She'd have to be subtle, it seemed, and careful—she had to get him out by making it look like he was incompetent or perverted, that was the only way to get him out and keep her in.

Such parameters would make things quite difficult for her indeed, but Naru forced herself to focus. He was clumsy, she already knew that, except for when he was on his bicycle, apparently. Maybe that was a possibility—she could set up some sort of trap, and as long as he wasn't able to get onto his bike…

Opportunities were starting to open up. But Naru promised herself that she would not act before she was ready—and that meant that for the moment, she'd have to bide her time. She didn't know much about this strange, mixed-race man, not yet—sure, she knew that he was from Pakistan and he loved biking, but that wasn't enough. She had to know his weaknesses to really hurt him… and finding out things like that would take time.

She would have to wait a little bit. But she promised herself that within the week, she'd do something—maybe not something big, but something.

"Someone's thinking about something… what's on your mind, sug?"

Kitsune, stealthily, had made her way to Naru's side. There was the faintest trace of a devilish smirk on her face, but even her best friend didn't see that—she was too adept at hiding her plans, after years of practice. If only Naru could learn how to be so secretive…

"I was just thinking, Kitsune. With a man around here, we'll all have to be a little more careful. I'm getting a lock on my door for one thing—and _some_ of us will have to remember to dress properly every time we leave our rooms." To make it clear who she was referring to, the brunette glared at the vixen next to her, albeit not in an unfriendly manner.

Kitsune had a witty response formulating in her mind, but Motoko spoke before she could.

"Narusegawa-san is right," the kendo girl concurred. "We'll all have to be careful to protect ourselves. Shinobu-chan, Su-chan… you may not be able to overpower him if he tries anything. Just call for help, and all of us will come running—and then we _won't_ let him escape. Alive, anyway."

All except for Naru were vaguely chilled by speech like that.

"Hmm… sounds like he's finished," Kitsune observed, what felt like a long time later. "I gotta see what kind of shape he's in right now. 5,000 yen says he's crawling back on his belly—anyone want to take me up on that?"

Of course, no one would bet against Kitsune. The vixen was more experienced than them all when it came to gambling, after all—and when she realized that, she just shook her head and sighed.

"I guess none of you like fun. Spoilsports." She lifted herself out of the water, and, still nude, made her way to the tall, bamboo walls that prevented eyes distant and near from spying on them. She bent over a little when she found a small hole—and peeked out, just in time to see Keitaro pass by.

"Well, I'll be."

"What is it, Kitsune?" Naru had averted her eyes, but at the vixen's mild exclamation, she looked up. Then, she stood, and walked forward with her head tilted to the side in case she had to back her friend up.

The vixen looked up from her slight spyhole, and faced her friend with an astounded smirk.

"He's riding back, would you believe it? Didn't look at all tired—a little sweaty, maybe, but that's it. Damn," Kitsune said, looking down with her hands on her hips. "Talk about tough. Wonder what he eats for breakfast—cereal bowls full of nails and broken glass? With the blood of the infidel oppressors for milk?"

Naru tried hard—with marginal success—to stifle laughter at that. "That's not _funny_," she groaned. "And move over; he's got to be a _little_ tired."

Despite the wetness of her hair, the brunette's antennae were at full structural integrity. She too bent over to look out, and though Keitaro was farther away when she saw him she couldn't really deny it—he looked completely normal, as if he'd just returned from a leisurely stroll around the block—not hours of intense physical activity.

When Naru stood up, her eye had an unhealthy twitch to it.

"Told you," Kitsune said smoothly. She sashayed to where the towels were kept and put one on. "Now, if you ladies will excuse me, it's six o'clock, and we all know what time that is."

She made her way back to the spring, briefly, to pick something up off the ground.

"What time is it, Kitsune-san?"

The vixen paused and turned to face Shinobu over her shoulder.

"Time to lose the game."

* * *

Keitaro left his gear on until he was in his room. Only when he was behind closed doors did he begin to remove the protective clothing that had protected him, down the decades, from blaster fire and slugthrowers, explosions and knives, from all the various insults the universe was apt to throw at a man in his line of work. Indeed, Kei's gear was his battle armor; it had come to define him as much as hobbies and personality did.

From his helmet to his gloves to his boots to his elbow and kneepads, to the heavy, reinforced fabric that covered him head to toe, he was black, mostly, save for a few broad stripes of red that he'd added on himself for style's sake. He wasn't yet covered in brand names and logos, and he wasn't sure he ever wanted to be—it was one thing to endorse groups that made good products, but it was something else to be a walking commercial.

Once he'd taken off his suit, he began to pull his shirt off. It was soaked with sweat, but that was unsurprising. He was about to take it off when there was a knock on his door. He turned around, with the bottom of his shirt caught around his lower chest; damn it, did it have to furl up into a tight, wet ball at such an inconvenient time?

"Oh, hello… Kitsune-san?"

"That's my name, sug."

Keitaro managed to pull his shirt back on, properly, and give the foxy lady a smile. "What can I do for you, Kitsune-san?"

She laughed quietly, a pleasant, tingling sort of sound, and invited herself into his room. Keitaro felt the slightest bit embarrassed—but he was just being prudish. There was nothing inappropriate about being in the same room with someone of the opposite gender, even if they were both alone … And besides, the way her hips sort of swayed from side to side—that was definitely his imagination and nothing more.

"I was just curious, Keitaro-kun. About… you." She said that final word delicately, and by then, she wasn't far from him at all—in fact, she was close, quite close indeed, so close that Keitaro found himself leaning backward an appreciable amount.

He waited for elaboration, for a moment, but received none. So, grinning a bit awkwardly, he knelt over his gear and pretended to fiddle with it, just so that he could get way from being so close to the foxy lady.

"I'm, ahm, afraid I don't understand, Kitsune-san…"

She laughed, pleasantly. "Oh, you don't need to be so formal around me, sug." He glanced to the side and saw her approach him again, before sitting down on her knees at his side. "Just call me Kitsune. And I was wondering, y'know, what it's like to live in Pakistan."

"Oh." For some reason, Keitaro's shoulders slumped the slightest bit. He felt relief—that was a perfect innocent, reasonable thing to ask. But Kitsune was getting uncomfortably close again—so he stood and made his way to his luggage. That ought to keep his eyes and handy busy for a while. "Well, I'm an open book, Kitsune-san. What did you want to know?"

Damn, he was being tough. She'd have to take it slow on this one—but that was alright. She turned toward him, but did not advance for the moment.

"Well, you know, the simple stuff. For example… what do folks in Pakistan do in their free time?" She bit back another Islamist joke—now just wasn't the time. She continued to look at him with a polite, interested expression on her face—more obvious advances would come in time.

"Well, it depends," Keitaro said. He looked up—a small victory—and began to explain in vaguely accented, but flawless Japanese. "But people in Pakistan aren't that different from people around the rest of the world, you know. Mostly everyone just wants to get along, have a nice family, some friends, and have some fun from time to time. I guess in Islamabad, people our age generally go out with friends… you know, on road trips, to parties, meet more friends, raise a little Hell. The usual," he grinned.

"There's a fad right now—about a dozen hookah bars have opened up within a block of my place, and everyone wants to try out all the different flavors and things. I'm sure it'll pass in time. Ah, and it's also become very popular, recently, to take trips to Peshawar. From there, you go around a little bit—maybe even set a foot into Waziristan. There's no real reason in it—it's just something to do, because all the Western media can say about northwest Pakistan is how terrible it is."

Kitsune found herself fairly interested in what he had to say—she snapped out of it damn fast, though, and slyly moved somewhat closer to Keitaro. He seemed not to notice, so she continued the line of questioning. It wasn't that she cared, at all; this was just a tool to use to get close to him.

"But isn't it pretty dangerous in Pakistan this time of year? I don't keep up with the news that much—but isn't that area where Osama bin Laden is hiding? With a bunch of his cronies?"

"Well, supposedly," Keitaro allowed. "But once you leave the big cities, there's not much development. There are _no_ suburbs, not like America—just forests, and mountains. Oh, you wouldn't believe the mountains, Kitsune-san. Especially in Kashmir and the far north—that's where some of the most dangerous Himalayan mountains are. There might be a few terrible people hiding here and there, but if you don't go out looking for trouble, it usually won't find you."

By now, Kitsune had scooted close enough to Keitaro that she was on the opposite side of his luggage. She could no longer deny that he was an interesting partner—for conversation—but she kept her goals in mind and worked on a way to get next to him again.

"Call me Kitsune, sug," the vixen reminded him. "And are you sayin' that you've been to this… 'Waziristan' place? What did your folks think of that?"

"We-e-ell… technically, I… _suppose_ I might have been to… maybe the… tiniest… set foot there for just a second… or, maybe just a few hours," Keitaro admitted. "It was when my dad had to make a trip to DC and my mom was out with some of her own friends. I'd set the day aside for biking… but, well, one thing led to another, and a few of us got a driver, and… you know. Please don't tell anyone this, Kitsune-san—I'd be grounded for life. And with good reason."

The foxy lady giggled. She shifted her weight to the side, and began to creep around the suitcase separating herself from Keitaro.

"Kitsune-san, sug; don't make me force ya. So, do you have, you know, a special someone waitin' for you back at home? Or in Washington?"

He shook his head a bit ruefully. "What can I say, it's just… never something that I've had time for, with biking and school. That, and, well, I've never been popular, with, you know, the other gender."

She laughed at that. It seemed that for a second, he'd forgotten that he was talking to a real, live girl—a real, live, damn good looking girl, she might add. She'd managed to sneak her way around the case, by then—and was only about two feet from Keitaro. She'd rolled her upper body forward so that she was in a crawl, and in that position she knew that he'd get quite the eyeful if he glanced down from her face—just for a second.

"Oh, I think you're joshin' me, sugah. If what you said is true and girls in Pakistan aren't that different from the rest of us, they'd hafta be blind to be able to keep their eyes offa you. You're actually sort of a cutey."

Kitsune was hamming it up, but not much. It was true that Keitaro was not the picture of masculine beauty, but he was pleasant to look on. His features were one in a thousand, and he was tall—and Kitsune had gotten more than a glimpse at him midsection when his shirt, still drenched in sweat, had stuck at his chest. Burning thousands of calories a day in extreme cardiovascular training had given Keitaro a defined physique with quite low body fat.

She reached forward and brushed a strand of hair out of his face that simply had never been there. By doing that, she implied that she'd like to admire him more—the expression on her face was picture-perfect because she'd practiced it a thousand times before, on a mirror, and on men in all manner of situations.

But Keitaro stood up and stepped away. He seemed to search for something to do for a tense second—before making his way to the window. Now, he wasn't even looking at her, and Kitsune was starting to get frustrated. This was no longer a game, he was deliberately trying to ignore her increasingly blatant advances—and although she wouldn't admit it, the foxy lady felt insulted. No one could keep their eyes off of her when she really wanted to be seen; he thought he could—then, so be it. Now, she wouldn't play nice.

He leaned on the sill and looked outside at the calming view spread out before him. The slight motion of his shoulders suggested that he was taking in a series of deep breaths to calm himself—but he'd have to have true mental fortitude to withstand the fox's next assault.

"Kei-kun…"

She almost moaned his name. No, she _did_ moan his name, in a low, sensual tone that sent chills up and down the spines of the hardest men—she knew that, because she'd met the hardest men and made them swoon with treatment like that. Indeed, Keitaro turned—just in time to see Kitsune stand, and walk directly toward him.

Now, though, there was no escape. He couldn't walk away, or to the side—his only escape was via the window, and, in fact, a two-story plunge was starting to look mighty friendly, just then, as the foxy lady got closer, and closer, and closer, and closer. She seemed to sway as she moved, and a slight, intentional motion of her hands brought his attention to her chest—and her bosom got bigger, and bigger, and bigger, and bigger.

Fear rose in Keitaro, among other things—and in a second, he was leaning backward again, desperately seeking a way out. But Kitsune just kept coming until she was right there, right in front of him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath—and her body—against his.

"Is-is something wrong, Kitsune-san?" he asked, in an attempt at politeness. His eyes left her, for favor of anything else, anything less… intoxicating than the foxy lady's body, and face, and lips, so close indeed to his own.

"Keitaro-kun, ever since you got here, I…" She paused, tactically, and looked away as if she was nervous herself. At the same time, she took a small step closer, so that her soft, pale thigh, only half-hidden by a sheer cloth miniskirt, pressed against his leg. "I can't explain it, Kei… you have to feel my heart beating to see how I feel about you…"

"_Nani_?"

She reached up and placed her hands on his. That was actually the first time Keitaro had ever felt the warmth of a woman's touch—in comparison to his, her fingers were so soft, so pale, so delicate. Like fragile china, they wrapped around his wrist and guided it toward her chest. She was so warm, so tender, so vitally alive—Keitaro _could_ feel her heart beat; the blood rushed from the center of her being to the tips of her fingers and sent slight vibrations to him. He focused on that innocent feeling for a second, just long enough to steady his hand in the air, still inches from the vixen's body—and give her a wry, ambiguous smile.

"Don't go any further, Kitsune-san. I think I understand how you feel about me already…"

Now it was the foxy lady's turn to be confused. She looked up at him, bewildered—just in time to see him sidestep past her, and make his way to the entrance of the room.

He continued to smile at her, in a manner that didn't quite reach his eyes. She tried to look into that strange expression, for a long moment, until she realized that he was talking to her.

"It's been a long, exciting day for me, Kitsune-san… but I have a lot of things left to do still. With respect… please leave."

Now this was another new experience for the foxy lady. No one had _ever_ thrown her out of their room before, _ever_, not for any reason at all. And yet, here stood Keitaro, confident and proud, looking her in the eye even as he plainly—yet politely—kicked her out. She was shocked; she didn't know how to react—her feet carried her forward on their own accord, even as her eyes stayed lock on his… at least, until he modestly turned away and raised a hand to further block his gaze from hers.

A moment later, Kitsune was in the hallway. She was still shocked, but managed to get over the worst of it—the vixen turned back to face Keitaro again and demand an explanation, but she was too slow. The door shut , more or less on her face, and the soft _ting_ of a metallic catch falling into place told her that he'd locked it.

She just stared, for a minute, almost gaping. Had he seriously rejected her, or was he just dumb? And if he had rejected her—why? Was he gay or something? Dangerous and disturbing, this puzzle was… meditate on it, Kitsune would, but certainly not there, standing in the hallway like a fool. She shook her head, and, brooding already, turned on her heel and walked away, asking herself, constantly, what the Hell had just happened.

* * *

Keitaro came out of his shower feeling like a new man. He'd tied a towel around his waist after drying off and simply spent a few moments relaxing, stretching, and making muscles in front of the mirror. His biceps were getting bigger, weren't they?... no, perhaps not.

But he was an eighteen year old—he couldn't be blamed for wishful thinking. And it wasn't like his upper body was totally without muscle, though it couldn't compare to his legs—he did do pushups and pull-ups _some_times, after all. Ah, well. Not everyone could have twenty inch arms.

He dressed, then, in a pair of cargo pants and a longsleeved tee. Once upon a time, there had been a graphic on the back, but now it was mostly just a blur of colors text. Keitaro liked it, though—it had been his for months, and it had character. Briefly, he considered doing something to his hair—perhaps gelling it or at least combing it—but then he realized that he preferred the way it looked as it was. He left it alone and simply considered what he ought to do with the rest of the day.

There was unpacking, of course. And organizing his stuff. And getting in contact with his parents… in fact, there was no need to wait to do that. Keitaro took his phone off of his bed, where he'd left it before heading off for his shower, and simply sat down for a few minutes to tap out an email to the address he'd marked as "Mom and Dad".

At first, he considered letting them know exactly what was going on—that is, that Granny Hina was MIA and the Inn itself was an all-girls dorm… and that he was supposed to be the resident manager. Then, he decided that they would be better off if they didn't have to worry about such things. He'd have to tell Haruka-san to leave her brother and sister-in-law in the dark soon enough…

His email was finished, and, after re-reading it once, Keitaro tapped "Send" and put it out of his mind. It sounded natural, and told his parents everything they wanted to hear—they wouldn't suspect a thing, hopefully.

For a moment, then, Keitaro simply sat where he was, and tried to let everything sink in. He was in Japan—in a inn-converted-dorm owned by his grandmother, where he'd spend the next several years of his life if all went well. Soon, he'd be distracted by cramming for Tokyo University's entrance exams, but he'd always have to stay at the top of his biking game. The Yokohama Invitational was getting closer and closer by the day, and, no doubt, Keitaro's competition was hard at work preparing as well.

It felt pretty odd, in fact, to be in such an unfamiliar place. Keitaro would not be surrounded by people he'd known for years, and he'd have to spend some time, at least, to know where everything was. Until he got acclimated to his surroundings, he'd be heavily dependent on his phone for navigation and more. It was tempting to simply hang around the inn and surrounding grounds for a few days, while he got used to life in the new time zone—but then, Keitaro realized, no one would stop him from coming and going as he pleased.

3am? 4am? No problem! After all, Hinata Springs was probably the safest town in Japan—among the safest nations in the world. He doubted Haruka-san would care what he did, as long as he didn't do anything bad or irresponsible. And as long as he kept quiet, the girls wouldn't be likely to say a word against him… right? Then again, now that he thought of it, Japan was a fairly conformist society.

Maybe it would be best for him to lay low, at least for a few weeks, so that he'd make a good first impression on his new peers. After that, they'd be far more likely to respond positively, or at least neutrally, to his youthful rebellions.

Sometime during this line of thinking, Keitaro had started to pull his clothing and other possessions out of his bags. For now, he stacked them on the bed in organized sections—shirts, pants, socks and more, and little gadgets and things like that. As soon as he was finished getting everything out, he would put it away—there was plenty of space in his room; it had a closet, a dresser, and the attached bathroom was spacious and extremely clean—

"What's the point of taking all your stuff out? You'll be gone soon enough—why waste the effort?"

"_Damn. I should have closed the door…"_ Keitaro winced—already, he recognized her voice without looking at her.

Still, though, he stood up and turned. His expression, he hoped, was friendly or neutral—or at least that the dread he felt wasn't so easy to see. He smiled, awkwardly, and then brushed a shock of hair away from his eye. Maybe he ought to have dried it…

He looked the brunette in the eyes. For a brief second, he considered a fiery retort—but he couldn't think of one, and besides, just because she seemed to hate him, that did not give him the moral upper hand here. He had to remember that no matter what, he had messed up, big time. What had happened between them was an accident, yes, but it was still his fault.

"Narusegawa-san," he began slowly, "I'm truly sorry for what happened in the hot springs, when I… you know." He tried not to flush—and failed, a little—but continued on regardless. "I don't know what to say… this kind of thing has never happened to me before. Is there something—anything I can do to make it up to you?" He felt a little pathetic and humiliated by the end of that statement, but he had been entirely sincere—and for a moment, it seemed that Naru might have gotten that.

For a moment.

She simply sneered, and moved aggressively into Keitaro's room. Halfway toward him, however, she froze—and realized that this was the opposite of how she had to act if her real goals were to be achieved. She had to be very conservative, for the moment—she had to find out more about him, for the moment, to figure out what her best course of action was.

And so she simply smiled, awkwardly, as her mind raced for words. He looked tense—so, he hadn't missed her anger—and that wasn't good. She'd have some doing if she wanted him to calm down and quit suspecting her.

"I, uhm, don't know what came over me, Keitaro-kun—I'm sorry for saying that." Naru forced herself to bow the slightest amount, and felt her shoulders slump down in relaxation when she straightened up. "It's just… that kind of thing has never happened to me before, either." She tried to laugh—no, damn it, it came out too high-pitched and shrill. "I, uhm… I think it would be best, for all of us, if we just… put everything behind us and started off on a clean slate."

Keitaro found himself nodding. That was a very reasonable request indeed, and yet… something about her just didn't feel right to him. It was almost like she was giving off a bad vibe—but that was just nonsense, right? After all, why would she lie?...

The brunette had calmed down enough, by then, to control what showed on her face. She smiled just a little and closed the distance between them in a calm sort of manner, before bowing for a brief moment. When she looked up, she saw the top of Keitaro's head—and a second after that, the two teenagers were looking one another in the eye again.

Neither of them noticed that the pause that followed was just a little too long to be natural. Each of them was weighing the other—Keitaro was trying to figure out why he was having a hard time trusting Naru, and Naru was trying to look beyond the decent, clean façade the strange foreign maintained.

"Thank you, Narusegawa-san," Keitaro finally replied. He smiled, just a little, and not for very long. "That's very big of you. Thank you," he repeated, and bowed again.

"Don't worry about it," she said, gritting her teeth—but not too much. "Let's just… try to get along, okay, Keitaro-kun? I'm sure we can, if we try."

He nodded in response to that; what else could he do? But as he couldn't think of anything more interesting to say, there was another brief, awkward pause.

Then, Naru considered. She almost winced, but she knew she had no choice. Sooner or later, some way or the other, Keitaro would find out that she too was reaching for Tokyo University… and when he did, he would wonder why she hadn't told him. That would be extremely suspicious indeed, and for now, and the near future, Naru knew that she had to be _very_ normal. Maybe even boring. After all, boring people didn't scheme.

"Oh yeah, Keitaro-kun," she began, conversationally, "I'm also interested in going to Tokyo University."

"Is that so?" Immediately, he seemed interested—and his skepticism of her vanished. She took note of that, and nodded rapidly as if carried along by his excitement. Clearly, he was quite passionate about this topic, and that could be a vulnerability…

"Ever since I was a little girl. I don't know why, but there's something about it for me—a pie in the sky to strive toward, you know?"

"That's exactly how it is for me," Keitaro said. "Even though I've never been there in my life, ever since I was a small boy, going to Todai has been a major goal for me. It's strange, I know, but I feel that my destiny _requires_ that I attend Tokyo U." He looked away from her, for a moment—not at anything in particular, except a distant, invisible future—before returning his gaze to the brunette and giving her a lopsided, somewhat embarrassed smile. "I know that probably doesn't make sense at all; sorry, Narusegawa-san."

"No, no, I understand completely," she said. "Ever since you were a small boy? Then… it'll really be something if you get in, won't it, Keitaro-kun?"

"Yeah, I guess it will. Heh… if I do, I won't know what to do after that. I guess I'll have to make new dreams for myself as I go along… right, Narusegawa-san?"

She had to admit—he definitely didn't come off as a pervert when he was just talking. In fact, he seemed quite sincere, and forward thinking indeed—no! Nope, no, not at all. He was a pervert to the core, he just happened to be a sly son-of-a-bitch as well. Her eyes narrowed the smallest amount, before she smiled, pleasantly, and nodded.

"Just like the rest of us, Keitaro-kun…" She tried to think of something else to say, and failed. So, before things could get awkward again, or she slipped up—she decided that it was time to go.

"Well… I have a lot of things to do, Keitaro-kun. And so do you… oh, dinner is in about forty minutes, by the way. Shinobu-chan cooks, but as resident manager, it's your responsibility to clean up." To her chagrin, he nodded at that as if it was a reasonable request—which it was. It just wasn't in his character to be so mature and rational; after all, he was a pervert.

"Then… I'll see you later, Narusegawa-san. Thank you again for forgiving me."

He did seem to mean that, but that was to be expected. Her forgiveness—phony as it was—was good for a pervert like him. Now, all he'd have to do was to keep his head down, and covertly peep on them, or worse… ugh, the possibilities were as disgusting as they were endless. Naru would have to act soon indeed. But for now, all she did was grit her teeth, bow curtly, and then give him a farewell wave before she left the room.

_Then_ she could gnash her teeth and swear revenge to her heart's content.

* * *

"That has _got_ to be the weirdest conversation I've ever had," Keitaro muttered to himself. What had just happened?

Everything seemed so… so fake, in a way that was difficult to describe. It was almost like being at a job or talking to one's boss—the friendliness, politeness, and courtesy were all there, but they were all faked or emphasized. It was like one of them, or both of them, were playing their parts. Something was seriously wrong there—err, right? Or was Keitaro just being paranoid? Or was his perception and understanding of things simply horrendously flawed?

Keitaro didn't know the answer to any of these questions, of course, and he didn't know where to begin to get them. He could ask Haruka-san about Naru some time, but for now, his best move was probably just to be alert and watch what was going on. That was two "interesting" interactions he'd had with two of his tenants within an hour. Kitsune… he could deal with her, he believed. Narusegawa, on the other hand… damn, he wanted to think that she had been sincere, but he just couldn't. Things would be awkward around her…

Oh, well. At least Keitaro had gotten things more or less straightened out with his life. He had housing, a great place to practice for the big YI, and the ability to study for the upcoming entrance exams in peace and qui—

"Hinata Mechanized Assault Force V. 1.0, _go_!"

"Muh?"

One moment, Keitaro's room was more or less empty. There had just been him, his clothes and a few other possessions—the next second there was a small army of pint-sized machines, all moving rapidly across the floor and through the air, bristling with weapons as diverse as they were powerful.

He was attacked, then, with tiny machineguns and missile launchers. On his bike, he might have had half a chance to get away, but on foot, he was hopeless.

The bombardment that followed knocked Keitaro clear out the window. Somehow the building was not damaged in the process—more miraculously still, Keitaro wasn't injured or killed, even though he hit a tree with enough force to daze him, and then fell all the way to the ground.

Several canaries waltzed around his head, for a few seconds, until he managed to blink and groan and slowly sit up.

"Why, God, why me? I don't drink to excess, use foul language, or look at naked girls—gosh, I guess I did look at naked girls. Maybe this _is_ divine punishment…"

"Nyahahahaha! A stunning victory against overwhelming odds! Present arms!"

In a second, Keitaro was on his feet again, and ready to run. Present arms—did that mean that he was going to be attacked again? But, no, the several dozen mechanized horrors now crowding at his window simply aimed their weapons into the air—then, shivered, shuddered, and shut down.

"_Uwa_! I've hit a setback…"

For the first time, Keitaro lay eyes on his attacker. It was the blonde, it seemed, though dressed in a beret and fatigues, he had a tough time recognizing her. She was fiddling with something that looked like an overlarge PS3 controller with apparent frustration and chagrin. Yet, a moment later, her little friends were moving again. This time, they were beating a hasty retreat back into the inn.

"Next time, Keitaro, I'll have my victory! Next time, I swear!..."

Her voice trailed off as she, too, vanished. For a moment, Keitaro could do nothing but stare after where she had been and blink, vigorously.

It seemed that the oddity of his conversation with Narusegawa had been one-upped.

"Now I'm truly confused," Keitaro said. He didn't realize where he was; after all, he was still somewhat dazed after getting conked out of a second floor window. That, however, did not excuse his natural tendency to be somewhat unobservant—except, of course, when he was on two wheels. He began to walk, rubbing the back of his head with a hand and wondering just what the Hell had happened. He took about two steps—and then plunged underwater.

He had, of course, been knocked down to the hot springs. Although he was utterly disoriented and quite honestly scared out of his mind, Keitaro managed to swim, briefly, and throw his head up over the surface of the water—just in time to see another near-death experience fast approaching.

It seemed that someone had decided to take a brief, pre-dinner bath. Whoever she was, she had apparently not heard the commotion, because she continued into the open-air spring as normal. Well, to be sure, Keitaro saw a sway in her hips as she moved that he _hoped_ was not part of her normal gait.

Quickly, he averted his eyes. He opened his mouth to yell that he was there—but just as quickly, he shut himself up, sweating cold bullets down the side of his face. He couldn't be caught in the hot springs again! Then, there would be no _way_ to deny that he was a pervert. He had to get out, and yet, he couldn't, at least not without being noticed. His options had been few initially, and as time continued and the girl got closer and therefore more capable of seeing through the mist that coated the top of the water, they became fewer and fewer still.

In the end, Keitaro decided to simply remain still, at the edge of the bath, and pretend that he was a rock or something. In time, he'd get a chance to escape. Maybe if he was lucky, he'd even get to see a little—no; what the Hell was he thinking of at a time like this?

The girl, whoever she was—Keitaro could still only see her silhouette—had entered the hot spring. In doing so, she had of course removed her towel, and now blood was really rushing to Keitaro's face. (Among other things.)

This was truly, terribly bad. Now, Keitaro was starting to second-guess himself, as the panic in him really started to rise. It probably would have been best if he had shouted when he could—at least then, no one would have been able to maintain that he was trying to peep; if he was, why would he give himself away? Now, he was making himself look guilty. And—

"Oi—where did she go?"

The girl had vanished. One second, she'd been standing there, with her head above the water but the next she was just gone. Had she dived underwater? What was going on—

Keitaro saw something approaching him, then, below the placid surface, and almost panicked. Even realizing that he wasn't likely to be attacked by a shark in such a body of water didn't calm him down. Now he knew where she had gone.

He had the good sense to turn away, at least, as the practical mermaid broke the water's surface just next to him. In doing so, she jumped up, just a little bit, so that the majority of her torso was visible, at least for a split second. Simply standing was enough to cover her in a manner that would have been acceptable for a soft porn magazine—but Keitaro's heart was still hammering in his chest.

"Well hello there, sug. Fancy meetin' you here."

There was no mistaking that Kansai accent.

"K-Kitsune-san, I swear, this isn't what it seems like," Keitaro stuttered.

"Oh? Do tell," she said, in a tone that made Keitaro blink in confusion. She sounded… as if she was amused. Or something else…

"I-I-I-I-Kaolla! It was Kaolla," Keitaro managed to stammer. "She attacked me with some kind of mini-robot army—I swear! She must have some contacts in Raytheon or something. She blew me out of my window, and I ended up here—didn't you hear me?"

"Hmm, doesn't sound too likely to me, sug."

Now, the vixen's voice had taken on a predatory tone. If Keitaro turned around, he would have seen her half-shut eyes glinting in dangerous amusement—she was a toying with him now, even as she slowly, seductively moved forward—until Keitaro felt something remarkably soft, warm, wet, and very feminine indeed against his upper back.

"Quit bleeding into the hot springs, Kei," Kitsune murmured. She seemed to move her face forward, then, to speak directly, hotly into his ear.

"And… I never knew some people were inta elbows."

"Eh—oh. Yeah…"

By now, Keitaro was feeling utterly low, and humiliated. It was surely only seconds before Kitsune shouted for help—perhaps from the samurai girl that clearly longed to lop his head off, or, worse, from Haruka-san. How could he let a relative think so lowly of him? Even if she let him live, he'd die of shame.

And so Kitsune's next move shocked him. He felt a slight pressure on his shoulder, looked to the side, and saw that the vixen had placed her hand on him. She was patting him… but why?

"Relax, Kei-kun. I won't tell on ya," the vixen said, in a friendly tone, before her voice became serious. "Su loves to play, but that's no excuse for you, as kanrinin, to get up ta things like this. I'll let you go, just the once… but next time, I'm gonna have to do somethin'. You understand."

Keitaro was nodded robotically, then, still quite numb from shock. Kitsune was forgiving him? Even after what he'd done (or not done) to her in his room? He smelled a rat, but he wasn't sure what it was yet.

"There's a secret way outta here," Kitsune said urgently, hurrying Keitaro before he could think more. "Head to the far southeast side of the hot springs. There's a part of the bamboo fence that bends back… you should be able to slip out from under there. Now get going!" She gave him a slight shove until he sprang into action and started to climb out of the water.

"And Kei-kun?" She stopped him with that half-sentence—her nearly turned to acknowledge her, but stopped himself at the last second. "You owe me for this, hun. Big time."

"_Son of a gun,"_ Keitaro thought to himself. Now he understood why he was being released.

"I won't forget about this, Kitsune-san," the boy whispered, using a hand to cover his eyes so he could crack the vixen a smile. "_Arigato_."

"Yeah, yeah; now get outta here!" Kitsune hissed. "Someone's coming—I'll cover ya; but run!"

Keitaro didn't need telling twice. He turned away from the hot springs and moved as fast as he dared. He tried to be quiet, but the place was large enough that a little noise wouldn't be noticed. All else he could do was to hope that his clumsiness wouldn't doom him again.

Kitsune had told the truth. At the far side of the bamboo fence, there were a few stalks that lifted off the ground, a little bit. Some brief testing told Keitaro that they could be bent just enough to admit him—and so he immediately dropped down and started to crawl. Behind him, Kitsune continued to keep her word, chatting with whoever else had entered the hot springs to prevent his escape from being noticed.

He managed to get through. At the very end, his foot got stuck, but a bit of twisting and maneuvering got that free, too. Keitaro stood up, dusted himself off, and stared back at the hot springs that he'd just squirmed out of. He looked, and felt, like he'd just swallowed a slug.

"Great, now I owe a crazy girl that likes to throw herself at people a favor. I wonder what she'll make me do?" he grumbled to himself, starting to walk away from the dangerous area.

"God damn it," he sighed. "Now I wish she'd just screamed for the police. Life would be so much less complicated behind bars…"

"Oh, hey, Naru; what's goin' on? Taking a little bath before dinner?"

Kitsune was leaning against the stone wall against her back with her arms luxuriously stretched out. She didn't have a drink with her, and that was rare. According to the alcohol connoisseur, hot springs were one of the best places ever to take sake.

Maybe she just wasn't in the mood to drink—no, no, forgive me, forgive me. Kitsune, _not_ in the mood to drink? That's crazy talk, even in fanfiction. She was probably just _out_ of alcohol altogether.

"Uhm, yeah… I just wanted to, you know, relax…" Naru gave her friend a smile, but she seemed distracted. She was looking around a lot, as if she was expecting to see something that just wasn't there.

"Hey, uhm, Kitsune, when you came in here, did you… see anything… anything unusual?"

The foxy lady blinked—but then, rapidly, understanding within her arose. She shook her head. "Don't worry, sug. Keitaro's definitely not in here. No need to worry about being peeped on."

"Oh…"

Now that was strange. Kitsune had known Naru for quite some time—she knew the subtle differences between when Naru was relieved, and when she was disappointed, and just then, Naru definitely seemed disappointed. The foxy lady looked at her brunette friend a little more carefully—and then simply decided that she had made a mistake.

"Unless… you're worryin' about _not_ being peeped on."

"_Eh_?"

"Oh, nothin', sug," Kitsune said in a dreamy, singsong voice. "Just… well, there's nothin' unusual about it. Get seen half-naked by a guy while you're bathin', and end up falling for him the same day… it's happened before."

"Oh, no _way_," Naru said, practically recoiling in disgust. "Kitsune, don't even joke about those things—"

"No joke, sug," the vixen continued, now openly grinning. "Say, maybe you could return the favor. When he comes home all sweaty and tired from biking, you could head up when he's in the shower and give him a little… comfort."

By this point, Naru knew that protest would not stop her friend's teasing. She simply groaned, rubbed at her temples with her fingers and tried to get the throbbing vein in her forehead to calm down. Eventually, she was successful, and Kitsune simply laughed. A moment later, the vixen had her arms around the brunette in a sort of older sisterly hug.

"I'm just joshin' you, Naru. Don't worry about Keitaro—I figure after almost getting killed by you and Motoko, he's gonna give the hot springs a pretty wide berth, if he can, _neh_?"

Naru rolled her eyes. She sighed, but there was nothing she could do. After all, it definitely didn't _look_ like Keitaro was anywhere.

"I _guess_ so," she allowed. "But this place still kind of freaks me out. Ugh, Kitsune, you don't know what it's like to have a guy stare at your chest—"

"Yeah I do—"

"_Without_ your permission—"

"_Yeah_, I do," Kitsune repeated. "He looked at me, too; don't you remember, sug? Actually, he did a little bit more than just looking… oh me, oh my…"

Naru couldn't help but grin at that. That was Kitsune, always making light of things and kidding around. Naru sometimes didn't know how she did it—maybe that was her coping mechanism. Even after so many years of friendship, the vixen was full of surprises.

Still, as the two girls continued to soak for another fifteen or so minutes, Naru couldn't help but allow her disappointment to show on her face. She didn't know what had gone wrong, exactly—she'd either missed Keitaro, or Kaolla's attack had failed or been rescheduled for some reason. Whatever it was, it seemed that any plans she cooked up in the future would have to have some margin of error. Keitaro, it seemed, would not be an annoying hangnail that could be flicked away at will. He was a tumor that would have to be removed with surgical, deadly precision.

At the same time, Kitsune was mentally rubbing her hands together in satisfaction with what she'd already accomplished. She might have lost face with Keitaro earlier, but she would figure out how to work him in time. Besides, now he owed her a favor. It might take more than copping a feel of her to bring Keitaro under control, but, in time, Kitsune would have him eating out of her hand.

* * *

Once Keitaro got to his room, he stayed there. It was simply too dangerous to go out, it seemed—Hell, it was dangerous enough being where he was. He'd already been assaulted in two distinct ways simply by being in his room. If things kept up like this, he'd lose his mind in a week.

Fortunately, he was left alone—at least for the moment. The clock ticked down the time to dinner, but Keitaro couldn't bring himself to leave the room—or his bed—until just five minutes remained.

"I have to talk to that crazy blonde girl," he muttered to himself. "Doesn't she know that it's illegal to blow people up? And Kitsune… …no, I don't want to talk to her alone. I don't want to be with her alone at all. That's not wise… but…"

Keitaro's mind struggled to deal with what he was going through. It then failed, badly. He had to maintain the peace in the inn; he had to avoid Kitsune; he had to figure out Narusegawa while maintaining an amiable relationship with her—and all the while, he had to study to get into Tokyo University.

That was just too much for one guy to deal with. And Keitaro hadn't even started to clean or rebuild or maintain the ancient inn, much less collect rent—forget about properly meeting his other tenants, much less getting to know them, much less dealing with the problems that they would doubtlessly bring to his life.

Why couldn't life be simple? Why couldn't he just study and practice biking for the Yokohama Open—ah, that was another trouble that Keitaro had forgotten to add to his list. Just when did things end—

"Good evening, kanrinin-san."

Keitaro's feet had kept moving without his notice. In fact, he was lucky that he hadn't taken a fall down the stairs, or embarrassed himself in some other way. He'd walked directly into the dining room, just as everyone was starting to sit down. The food wasn't yet on the table, but it was somewhere close by, and hot _damn_ did it smell good. Keitaro rarely ate Japanese—his mother was American, after all, and they lived in a nation that was… not particularly Oriental in its culinary heritage.

His mind was wandering. A little awkwardly, he smiled, and made his way to a seat that seemed to have been reserved for him. To his right was the samurai girl that had—justifiably—tried to kill him and prevent him from staying at Hinata Inn. The seat to his left was empty for the moment, but a quick headcount and a bit of guesswork made Keitaro look like he'd just eaten a live slug.

"Of course it's her. Why wouldn't it be her—why would things ever be easy?" he muttered under his breath, just as "she" made her way into the room.

"Didja say somethin', sug?"

The silver-haired vixen entered her seat in a gliding, almost liquous manner. When she wasn't drunk or buzzed, she was actually quite agile—and it showed. Keitaro simply couldn't help but glance at her, once, before looking at his hands and muttering a soft, "'Lo."

Narusegawa, Aoyama, Kaolla, and now Kitsune were seated at the table in Keitaro's immediate proximity. The only one that was missing was the quite, pale girl—what was her name again? Maehara Shinobu—that was it. Naru had mentioned that she did the cooking… that was odd. She seemed very young indeed, roughly the same age as Kaolla.

A pot of tea was being passed around the table. The girls had all filled small, china cups with the steaming liquid—Kaolla had done the same for Shinobu—and now Kitsune was handing the pot to Keitaro. With a somewhat shy smile, the brown-haired boy accepted the container.

"Remember, Kei-Kun… you owe me," she breathed, too softly for anyone but the message's intended to recipient to hear.

Glumly, Keitaro nodded and filled his own cup with tea. He was really under her thumb, it seemed, and that was the last thing he wanted. True misery was his condition…

And then Shinobu entered the dining room with a tray of food roughly her own size and weight in her hands. She smiled, nervously, at the reactions her entrance received. Although she was constantly told that her cooking was amazing, she still had little to no confidence at all. And yet, even Shinobu couldn't deny it—everyone looked ravenous the moment she came in with the food.

Within minutes, the various dishes had been set down on the table. Keitaro had never seen so much Japanese food before in his life—ever. There were no more than three or four Japanese in all of Pakistan, and the one Keitaro had been to was, shall we say, less than decent. His dad was a klutz in the kitchen, so the only time Keitaro really had a chance to eat Japanese was when he was in DC.

"This looks delicious," Keitaro said. He looked up until he made eye contact with Shinobu, just as she was sitting down, and gave her a polite smile. "_Arigato_, Shinobu-san."

The young girl did not verbally reply. Or perhaps she did, too quietly for Keitaro hear. It seemed to him that she simply blushed and looked at her hands until everyone started to eat.

Keitaro was no master with chopsticks, but he was competent enough to avoid embarrassing himself. There was a fair amount of attention on him, as he was the only male in the room, and he was a foreigner in addition. No matter that he traced half of his ancestry to the Japanese archipelago—he'd still not set foot in the nation for a lifetime. Even as he enjoyed his first meal in Japan, he couldn't deny it even to himself—he was an outsider looking in.

It was a few minutes before the girls began to loosen up. None of them were used to eating with men—their self-imposed gender segregation had been complete for the past years, and the addition of another person to the inn-turned-door changed the whole social dynamic. Kaolla was the only one that didn't notice (or didn't care about) this, as she was too busy shoveling food into her mouth.

Kitsune and Naru began to chat about this and that. Just little, unimportant things—what did you do today; did you see that new line of shoes; we should head out this weekend… Keitaro felt a little guilty for "listening in" until he realized that he was not expected to keep his ears shut. The conversation could hardly be considered private.

Kaolla eventually began to speak with Shinobu—in between heaping bites of food—but the pale girl didn't seem to have much to say. It was pretty odd—she'd begin to speak, look up, make eye contact with Keitaro, and then blush and look away again. Keitaro couldn't make heads or tails of it.

It seemed that the only one who wasn't mingling—besides him—was the samurai girl at his side. He looked over at her, briefly, and watched as she serenely lifted her tea cup to her lips and took a long, deep sip. She moved with precision and grace that Keitaro could only accomplish on two wheels.

With a renewed sense of respect—and just a little fear—Keitaro smiled at the tall ravenhead.

"Hello… Aoyama-san. I, uhm… haven't… spoken… to you… before…"

His words died in his mouth as the martial artist turned toward him and fixed her best death-stare on him. Her eyes, slim and dark, burned with barely-restrained anger.

He tried not to shiver, but failed, just a little, and almost cowered in his seat.

"We have nothing to say to one another, Urashima-san. I accept your position as kanrinin, but you're still a male at an all-girls dormitory." She nodded, then, and turned back to her tea. "That is all."

Feeling somewhat humiliated, Keitaro simply turned back to his food. Motoko was right, after all. He might not like it—well, he certainly didn't like the way she'd treated him—but she was right. At least, he thought to himself, that was one of the girls he could count on to be stably. Icy, but stable.

A soft sort of snickering make Keitaro turn to Kitsune, though not for very long. His humiliation must have been amusing—she had every reason to laugh, as cruel as it was. Meanwhile, he was likewise completely reasonable in simply turning back to his food and nudging it this way and that with his chopsticks instead of actually eating it.

"Aww, c'mon, Kei-kun," Kitsune said. She nudged him with her elbow a bit until he looked at her again. "Don't sweat Motoko. She's actually a lot worse to other guys."

"Really?... how is that even possible?"

A vein appeared on Motoko's forehead and throbbed, slightly. She looked up from her tea and glared at the back of Keitaro's head as a hand crept toward her blade.

"That's easy," Kitsune said. "Most guys love to do _this_ to her."

Before Keitaro could react—before he dared to react, as his reactions were known to upend tables, knock down expensive vases and more—Kitsune's arm shot past his body. He didn't see what the vixen did, of course, but he guessed—correctly—that she'd touched Motoko in a place that the martial artist most certainly did not like being touched.

"Urashima, you pervert!"

"W-wait! It wasn't me!"

There was no time, though. Motoko's reaction was as swift as it was violent. She drew her sword and struck in the same swooping motion, moving to chop Keitaro's head off. The result would have been bloody—if she didn't stop herself at the last second.

Keitaro had dived backward and raised his hands in a display of surrender. His eyes were wide—terrified, not lecherous—and Kitsune was giggling off by herself as Naru and Shinobu stared. Kaolla, of course, was still nomming away. How Motoko had stopped herself in time was a miracle—but she had, sparing poor Keitaro's life.

"Kitsune-san," the samurai girl said in a low, dangerous growl, directed more at Keitaro than anyone else, "you should be a little less high-spirited. Otherwise, we might have a _nasty_ accident. And we _don't_ want that… _do_ we?" She was practically snarling by the time she was finished speaking, and it was clear that she wasn't talking to the sly fox of Hinata Inn.

"N-n-no, we wouldn't want th-that at all," Keitaro said. Yet, even as the sword continued to hover at his throat, he slowly lowered his hands and looked at Motoko in a concerned—or even chastising sort of way. "But, Aoyama-san… it wasn't Kitsune-san's high spirits that nearly got me killed just now."

He was still scared, to be sure, but he would never be a pushover. He'd never been bullied in his life (largely due to his height and familial status), and he certainly wasn't going to start to be bullied now, no matter that he was in a nation that he barely knew. There was a sort of grim defiance in his eyes, then, that was impossible for Motoko to mistake.

Practically seething, she pulled her sword away. Sheathed it. She stood, then, and faced her body toward Keitaro although her eyes did not meet his. And then she bowed, the teensiest amount, before turning around and walking away.

Keitaro looked after her, for a moment. Then, he shrugged, and turned back to his food. It was not his fault that Motoko was… high-spirited, but Hell if he was going to get threatened like that. He would have to talk to her, later. But for now, he simply turned to Kitsune and shook his head the slightest amount.

Then he too stood and left, albeit after thanking Shinobu for a delicious meal.

The four remaining girls were silent, then. Two of their number had left the table—well, one, and one outsider—and that was something that had never happened before, certainly not in that manner.

"Thanks for the great meal, Shinobu-chan! Hey—why is everyone so quiet?"

Kaolla had finished eating, and only then returned to the world at large. In doing so, she'd made her three companions jump, a little, before smiling thinly at her and ignoring her question. Oh well—it can't have been that important. The blonde left the table, then, at a sprint, and made her way into her room to build her latest version of killing machines.

Eventually Kitsune began to eat again. So did Naru, and then, so did Shinobu. Each of them had their own thoughts, quiet and private and in the case of the former two, schematic and precise. Keitaro had come off as a pretty happy-go-lucky guy, but these developments were significant. He certainly had some guts, to be able to talk to Motoko like that _and_ stare her down—immediately after she'd nearly killed him.

Naru was not prepared to make a major move yet. Or, at least, not an obvious one. Motoko's thoughts toward Keitaro, as yet, were impossible to determine… as were Kitsune's and Shinobu's. Kaolla saw him as a plaything, and that was somewhat useful—but if she was too fast or too obvious or if she even tried to recruit allies against him, she would fail. For now, she'd have to continue to play the rose to hide her true serpentine nature.

As for Kitsune, she knew that she would not apologize to Keitaro. She had guessed—correctly, apparently—that doing such a thing to Motoko would engender a violent response, but he didn't know that. He didn't need to know that. She would simply say that she was just paling around with Motoko, who was clearly having her time of the month… She'd express sorrow, but not much guilt, and that ought to put her back in Kei's good books.

If she was careful, she might strike up a friendship with him sooner rather than later, and that was nearly as good as what she truly wanted, at least in some ways.

"_Steady, girl,"_ the sly fox thought to herself. _"It's gonna take time, but I'm gonna do it. In just a coupla weeks, he's not gonna be able to get his mind offa me."_

* * *

Keitaro felt marginally safer and saner in his room. Marginally, at best. Once he was in he simply lay down on his bed, unsure of what else to do. He felt drained, but not physically, and he didn't understand it. He wasn't used to drama—his parents were both no-nonsense people, and he'd selected similar friends over the course of his life.

But these girls were—eccentric, to put it politely; damned crazy to be a little more explicit! Keitaro didn't know how to deal with them. So far, the only one that seemed somewhat normal was Shinobu, and she seemed more like a mouse than an actual person.

No, that wasn't quite accurate. Narusegawa was normal, to all appearances, if only Keitaro could get past that lock in his mind that prevented him from trusting her. She had reacted rationally to everything so far, in contrast with Motoko, who seemed like a powder keg with a very, very short fuse.

Kitsune was clearly manipulative (although Keitaro wasn't yet aware how deep her treachery ran—sorry, that's a really overdramatic line, but I couldn't resist), and willing to use her body as a tool. She didn't seem to have much respect for herself, yet she was capable of being something of a puppet master over other people. That meant that as dangerous as Motoko was, the one Keitaro really had to be on his toes about was Kitsune. _Everything_ he did would be used against him by her, whereas the samurai girl would only cut his head off if he did something wrong, or was perceived to.

Keitaro sat up, and simply shook his head. How on Earth would he get on? He had no problem with doing physical chores and just staying out of everyone's way, but son of a gun, if had to come home to insanity like this… he didn't know how he'd study, practice for the big Yokohama Open, let alone find a few minutes for fun here and there.

"I should have just stayed in Pakistan, where it's safe and sane," Keitaro muttered. He didn't see the irony in that statement, though Khan guesses that you might.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. What was his next move? At least, he ought to think about what to do with the rest of the day, and the next as well, but he was simply too mentally exhausted to consider anything of more significance than the color of the ceiling, the pattern of the wood planks, and the fact that one section in particular seemed to be broken or at least damaged…

"Hey there, Pakistan-san. You look beat."

"_Nani_—oh… Kitsune-san."

That was one of the last faces Keitaro wanted to see just then. One of. He'd have liked to see Motoko even less, but Kitsune was a close second.

He sat up and looked at her a bit suspiciously, but she was acting perfectly normally as far as he could see. Granted, her hips were oscillating like an underdamped (ζ 1) sinusoidal linear differential equation of the second order rather than a manner he perceived as chaste: an _over_damped (ζ 1) sinusoidal linear differential equation of the second order, but still. That was just in her character. Just as Keitaro wouldn't equate a linear integral of the functions giving an _open_ curve around a given region with the double integral of the difference between the partial derivatives of those same functions regardless of the orientation of the linear integral around the curve, he wouldn't expect Kitsune to be someone she wasn't.

And yet, he absolutely didn't want to see her then, of all times. He looked away from the silver-haired vixen and sighed.

"Kitsune-san, believe it or not, I'm not in the mood to talk right now. So…" He let his voice trail off tiredly. Hopefully she'd get the message.

And she did, alright. She simply chose to ignore it and keep moving forward, before sitting down just next to the brown-haired lad. Well, not _just_ next to him. A fair foot or so of space separated the two, but she was still pushing his limits, just a little bit. Too much, and she'd be booted out again, but not enough and she'd never make any significant gains.

"Talk about a rough introduction, sug. I could be wrong, but I dunno if Motoko's much of a fan of yours."

Keitaro turned to face her at that. There was a very skeptical expression on his features, and Kitsune feigned surprise, blinking and leaning away from him the smallest amount.

"Why on Earth would you do something like that?" Keitaro said. He mimed what the fox had done to the samurai girl; unfortunately, he did so while facing her. He realized this just in time to pull his hand away from making contact with Kitsune, but that didn't stop him from wincing, blushing, and facing away from her again. "You almost got me killed, God damn it," he sighed. "If I had been a heartbeat slower, _thk_, that would have been curtains for Keitaro."

"Hey now," Kitsune said in a rather lecturing tone, "it wasn't me that did that—that was all Motoko. I was just joshin' around with her, you know? Us girls do that kinda stuff all the time."

Keitaro looked at the vixen again. She seemed to be perfectly honest, and yet, why would she lie? What could she possibly gain from toying with his life like that?

"Well… just, don't provoke Aoyama-san like that again. Next time, I might not be so lucky," Keitaro said. As if to drive the point home, he rubbed his throat with a hand, making sure that it was still intact.

"Don't worry, sug. If I'da known she'd fly off the handle like that, I wouldn't have done it," Kitsune said comfortingly. She considered, for just a heartbeat, and then added, "And… I guess I am kinda sorry, Kei. If I hadn't touched Motoko's tits, you wouldn't've nearly gotten your head chopped off."

"Yeah…" Keitaro sighed.

Kitsune didn't reply again, at least not immediately. She was watching the boy carefully, as he rubbed the lower half of his face with a hand and—perhaps pointedly—looked away from her. She could practically feel him struggling, or, as she thought of it, doing jihad with his inner demons. Interested, the vixen perked up, a little bit, so that she was prepare to react when Keitaro began to speak again.

"I don't know about this, Kitsune-san," he said… and that was all. There seemed to be a whole lot at the tip of his tongue, though, so she prompted him, just a little bit.

"All what, sug?"

"All this—the inn and everything. Every_one_. If I just had to take care of the inn while studying and biking, that would be fine—but I can't—I can't deal with the drama here. It's way too much," he said. And then, he looked the fox in the eye again.

"I'm going to tell Haruka-san that I just can't do this. It's a shame, but it looks like the inn will have to go... It's not my fault that Granny Hina is high-spirited."

"Now hold on a second there, Kei-kun," Kitsune said. She'd suspected that he might express a little bit of stress to her, but this was too much. She had to reel him in before he got away from her forever, throwing her out of her cheap, comfortable home in the process. "It's only been one day, right? Everyone's still gettin' used to you being here and all. And trust me—well, I'm not gonna say that a couple of us aren't a little… well, eccentric, but it's usually not this bad by a long shot. Just… give it two weeks, or maybe three, and then make your decision. After all, opportunities like this one don't come too often. Ya don't just want to throw this away while you've got it, do you?"

He looked away from her again, and she took note of that. Keitaro was not a guy that made big decisions without careful consideration—he probably hadn't been thinking of leaving that seriously, not yet, anyway. It had been more out of frustration than actual thought that had led him to tell her that he wanted out.

"I… _guess_ not," Keitaro finally admitted. "Maybe… I should just give it a little more time. I mean, things can't get any worse, can they?"

Kitsune nodded. "That's the idea, Kei. Though ya might want to work on your fighting spirit, just a little."

She took another risk, then, and gently socked his arm in a friendly sort of manner. He didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah… I'll just talk to Aoyama, and that crazy blonde girl—hey, where is she from, Kitsune-san? Kaolla, I mean."

"That, I don't know," the fox admitted. "She always says we'll find out someday, but someday never comes. I used ta think she was Indian, but now I ain't so sure."

Keitaro shrugged, and turned away from the fox again. Wherever Kaolla was from wasn't that important. What was important was that if she didn't quit starting small wars for no reason at all, she'd find herself out of a home.

"I don't think she's from India… but tell me about Aoyama-san, Kitsune-san. What makes her so uptight?"

Kitsune was smiling on the inside, though she didn't show it. Keitaro might not have realized it, but he was conversing freely with her, accepting her advice, and therefore seeing her as more than a potential hazard or enemy. She was far from being in the "friend zone", so to speak, but these things took time.

"She's from a big martial arts school—a martial arts _family_, like. I think she's somethin' like a 23rd generation samurai… I don't really know the details, but the deal is that she hangs out around here to get a feel for the rest of Japan and stay focused on her studies. She might go to school, might not… but you really don't want ta mess with her, Kei. I say, give it a coupla days at least before you approach her about what happened at dinner. In fact, ya might as well just forgive her. She's not gonna change."

"_Then she _will_ leave,"_ Keitaro thought, but didn't say. Then again, Kitsune had a point. The last thing he wanted was to get his head lopped off because he approached the swordswoman when fiery, passionate blood was still pumping through her veins—he'd come around later, when she was unprepared for it or in a good mood. That way, he could make his points without undue fear.

"What about Narusegawa-san? And Maehara?" Keitaro asked. "What can you tell me about them?"

"Now them I actually know a fair bit about," Kitsune grinned. She was aware that she'd moved just a little bit closer to Keitaro, and then he became aware as well. Yet he didn't get up to move away or even look away, except after a minute—during which she swore she saw his eyes either attempt to or succeed in fluttering below her neckline.

"Naru's my best friend, has been since high school," Kitsune said. "She's a pretty nice girl, most of the time, but she does have a little… well, she can get feisty if you mess with her enough. I wouldn't worry too much about her—she is a little wary of ya, 'cause of what happened, but she'll get over it in a couple days. Just be nice to her, and show her that you're not a perv, and she'll come around."

Keitaro nodded; he'd have to keep those things in mind. As much as his gut didn't trust Naru, he found that he had a strange desire to gain her friendship—what was with that? He'd have to think about things, later, but for now, he wanted to know about the other young member of the Hinata Inn household.

"As for Shinobu, she's… pretty quiet, actually," Kitsune said, after a moment of thought. "It's easy to forget she's around a lot of the time. But she's a good girl. She studies pretty hard, and does her chores… not much personality, but no one's perfect. She's been livin' with us for a couple months now, but I don't actually know her that well," the vixen admitted.

That was _one_ tenant Keitaro could trust to be relatively sane, he thought. And then he realized what was going on—Kitsune was cooperating with him, although not to a particularly astounding degree. Still, she was helping him out in a non-trivial way, when she had no obvious motive for doing so.

Keitaro looked at her hard, for a moment, and saw no duplicity in the silver-haired lass's eyes. It seemed very much like she was simply trying to be friendly, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. And yet there was nothing about what she'd done or said that was remotely suspicious…

Maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe after seeing that he wasn't the kind of guy that was ruled by the primitive needs of his body, Kitsune had decided that there was no use in being slutty… but that didn't explain why she was being so friendly all of a sudden. She hadn't even mentioned the favor he owed her…

"…_Arigato_, Kitsune-san," Keitaro said with a smile. "Hopefully, I'll be able to get along with everyone here… at least for another three weeks. After that, I'll leave… or else, some others will."

"Alright, Kei," the vixen sighed. "Just be fair about it, and don't let first impressions carry that much weight. Everyone needs time to adjust, _neh_?"

Keitaro nodded. But then, he faced forward and sighed. Even if things became really bad—well, unless they became _really_ bad in terms of vandalism, theft, assault, et cetera—he was locked to Hinata Inn for three weeks. Most men would have kept in the back of their minds the possibility of just ducking out early if their patience ran thin, but Keitaro had given his word that he would give Hinata Inn a try for twenty one days, albeit not explicitly, and he always kept his word. Always. No matter how many years had passed…

Kitsune didn't know what to think about the way Keitaro's brow furrowed, then. He looked like he was distracted, or concerned, about something that required a great deal of careful, straining thought to understand. It was almost like he was reaching out with his senses, or into his memory for some reason—she couldn't guess why.

She quietly cleared her throat, and that was all it took to yank Keitaro back to the world. He blinked, then looked at her, and by that point Kitsune already knew what she was going to say next.

"Hey, uhm," she offered, in a very innocent, spontaneous sort of tone—although every word, every movement, every strand of hair she controlled was pre-planned and carefully placed, "you're pretty new to the area, right, Kei? Why don't I show ya around a little bit, so ya don't need to consult with your phone every time you step out of the door?"

Kitsune really had to congratulate herself on her acting. Thus far, she was going for the feel of a girl that did not "like" Keitaro—not exactly—but did think fairly highly of him. And after all, why not? She hadn't been entirely lying earlier in the day when she'd called him a cutey, and so far he seemed like a perfectly decent guy, if weird in several ways. Taking about a half hour off just to think about Keitaro and how to manipulate him—and downing three cans of beer in the process—was certainly worth it.

The one thing Kitsune was worried about was moving too fast. She was a determined girl by nature, when she really set her mind to things, and sometimes her patience ran out before she realized it. Well, there was no taking back her question now. But no matter how Keitaro answered, the vixen promised herself that she'd give him a day off at least—maybe just giving him passing waves, smiles, and hellos—before really trying anything with him again.

Then again, if Keitaro didn't see what she was doing, why wait? In the half-second that Kitsune had had all these thoughts, the auburn-haired boy had turned to her and smiled.

"Yeah, that would be great, Kitsune-san. I tried to use Google Maps to figure this place out, and it's not too bad… but Tokyo is…" He searched for the appropriate Japanese term, failed to find it, and simply shook his head. "Do you know your way around Tokyo—is it hard to figure out?"

"_Son of a gun, this guy's doing half my work for me,"_ Kitsune thought to herself. Briefly, she pictured herself dressed in a black military uniform from head to toe, tapping her fingers against one another in midair and maliciously cackling—but then, she remembered that she couldn't move too fast. Not too fast, otherwise even the utterly innocent and naïve Keitaro would figure out what she was up to.

"Well, it's not hard ta get to big things, like Tokyo U or cram schools and stuff… but if you want to find, you know, holes in the wall, you need a local. I go to Tokyo pretty much every day—or every other day, basically. I think you oughta just… set aside a day or two, and figure out the places where you need to be."

It was truly an art to speak while mapping out possibilities, opportunities, and pitfalls. Kitsune's advice was sound, but just vague enough that she could later accompany Keitaro on a trip to Tokyo. She had gotten close to suggesting he go with Naru—that's what she would have said if she had been speaking from the heart, but she'd realized, quickly, that that was a no go. Supposing Naru refused? Then the utility of her advice in Keitaro's eyes would drop. And supposing Naru accepted? Then, Kitsune would have another potentially big problem to worry about.

All but the most accomplished schemers would have been overwhelmed by the input, analysis, and output that Kitsune dealt with in real time. She had had plenty of practice, though—they didn't call her The Fox of Hinata Springs for nothing.

"I think I'll do that… I'll definitely do that," Keitaro said. He seemed to ponder things for a few seconds, but that was no big deal. Kitsune knew when a cigar was just a cigar and when she was dealing with a counter-schemer, and although Keitaro seemed to be a reasonably sharp guy, he just wasn't in her class. No one really was.

A moment later, though, the boy was on his feet. He seemed very energetic indeed, though Kitsune didn't know where the Hell he got it from. She was lethargic usually, but after spending hours tearing up the hills on his grandmother's land, she expected Keitaro to be in the same state. But he wasn't—he was practically overflowing with energy.

"So, shall we go?"

It took the vixen a second, while she was standing up, to realize what he was talking about. Then, she had to smile.

"Heh, I guess you really dunno much about girls, do you, Kei?"

"Muh?"

"I'm just teasin' ya," the vixen said. "Give me a couple minutes to change, and then I'll meet ya downstairs."

She moved to leave, giving Keitaro a smile over her shoulder. It was a friendly smile, not a seductive one—well, mostly—and the Kitsune kept those wide, feminine hips of her gyrating just in case Keitaro ever forgot that she wasn't just a face in the crowd. Maybe he'd eventually get used to the way she walked, but she doubted it. Even as she turned to make her way down the hall, she saw him reaching hastily for a tissue to clean up the several drops of blood collecting below his nose.

* * *

Picking what to dress next was hard for Kitsune, and it wasn't just because she was a girl. She had to be careful—conservative enough to appeal to the dress codes of Pakistan engrained into Keitaro's genes, fashionable enough to more or less fit in with her peers, sexy enough that she'd get noticed by him, but reasonable enough that he could take his eyes off of her and look at the town, thinking of her as a friend that happened to be a girl rather than a girlfriend.

"Life's a lot easier," Kitsune murmured, as she began to strip down, "when all you have ta do to get the guy is wiggle the girls in his face. Damn it, Kei, why can't you be a lot hornier?" she sighed.

By this point, Kitsune was wearing only her undergarments. They were some of the more utilitarian ones in her collection—a lot of her stuff was, shall we say, heavy on the lace and short on the actual amount of material covering her. Just then, she was wearing rayon and cotton, white in color, nothing special—and that was ideal for what she was doing.

What to dress in, though? A skirt? No, that was probably out, unless it was knee-length and loose. She'd keep that idea on the backburner for now—but what about pants? Say, jeans? She did have a fairly sexy pair—he'd certainly notice her in those, but were they _too_ sexy? Would it be better for her to wear a slightly looser pair?

And what about a top? The bare midriff look was out for sure, but sure tight shirts were acceptable—well, maybe not, unless she wore a more chaste covering on top of them.

Damn it all, maybe it would be best if she just made a burqa out of a bath towel or something. At least that would be sure not to offend him.

In the end, Kitsune simply pulled on a pair of slightly faded jeans that snugly fit her as well as a tank top that did a reasonable job of covering her chest. On top of that, she wore a sort of blouse that Naru had gotten her a while back. When she was finished, she looked herself over, briefly, and gave herself a confident nod. Even when she wore such a ridiculous amount of clothing, she still had it. She definitely still had it.

* * *

Keitaro felt a little odd, standing and waiting in the living room for Kitsune to finish changing. Why on Earth had she needed to change—she had been dressed perfectly fine, as far as he was concerned, until just then. And it wasn't like it was oddly cold or hot outside. Then again, this seemed to be the sort of things that women did… huh. Maybe Keitaro could learn useful life skills by being in a practical harem.

He winced when he thought of his position like that, and silently asked for the girls' forgivenesses. Damn, he could have a dirty mind…

"Ready to go, sug?"

Keitaro turned around and saw that Kitsune was walking down the stairs. She'd changed, alright, into a fair more interesting outfit than the jeans and tee she'd been wearing before—she was wearing a collared white shirt of some sort, buttoned up three quarters of the way over some sort of black undershirt, and her jeans were different. Keitaro barely noticed how much nicer she looked, though. He scarcely looked away from her face.

"Ah, _hai_, Kitsune-san. Let's just put on shoes…"

The auburn-haired lad kneeled in order to get his sneakers on. He glanced to the side, out of curiosity, and saw that Kitsune wasn't wearing sneakers. She wasn't wearing dress shoes or sandals, either. She was wearing… erm… that is to say… Keitaro didn't exactly know what sort of styles they were. All he ever wore were sneakers, sandals, boots for biking, and rarely dress shoes. He really didn't know what to call the things Kitsune was putting on her feet—so he more or less ignored them.

"It's so nice…" Keitaro began. He saw Kitsune glance up at him, and explained. "In the US, mostly everyone wears shoes indoors… at least here in Japan, it's like how it is at home. Wearing shoes inside is grounds for lapidation."

"Really?" Kitsune asked, actually quite shocked—were things really that bad in South Asia?

"No, it was a joke—forget it," Keitaro sighed. "I should stick to puns and slapstick."

* * *

As the fox and her prey made their way down the massive, stone staircase leading up to Hinata Inn, they were not alone. Actually, they were alone, except for in the sense that neither of them was depressed and they were in a densely populated nation and the Lion Sheikh really out to start this paragraph over.

As the fox and her prey made their way down the massive, stone staircase leading up to Hinata Inn, their privacy was not complete. It wasn't that they were doing anything remotely inappropriate, or even significantly suspicious, but Naru had determined to get Keitaro out of Hinata Inn no matter what, though the means by which to accomplish this goal were thus far unknown. For the moment, she was simply reconnoitering; every piece of information was new and therefore valuable and worth pursuing.

That's why the brunette was watching the duo walk away, carefully. She had an extra notebook out—she had lots of stationery from her studies—and even then, she was jotting down a few key details… about how much Keitaro seemed to be talking, laughing; where he seemed to be looking and for how long, and how carefully and slowly he seemed to move to avoid tripping and falling flat on his face. He truly was quite cautious in his motion off his bike…

Eventually, however, Keitaro and the silver-haired vixen were out of sight, so Naru clicked her pen and hid her notebook well in her closet. There were no consequential developments, so far, but every detail had the potential to be useful at a later date.

Briefly, the brunette considered tailing Keitaro—but that was too much. She'd get plenty of chances to watch him while he was at the inn, after all… and besides, she could always pump Kitsune afterward. Actually, come to think of it, Naru didn't even know what the Hell Keitaro was going out for—or why the Hell Kitsune was going with him. Was she up to something?

The answer to that question, of course, was yes. Any time there was a question as to whether or not Kitsune was up to something, the answer was yes. The fox was always scheming or conniving in one way or the other; often she was just up to innocent pranks but now and then her plans had far more significant results than a hearty laugh.

She was doing something that involved Keitaro. Naru didn't know what it was, and it would hardly pay to ask—in fact, it would probably pay to play dumb, that way Kitsune would have her guard slightly lowered around her best friend. Ah—and there was that "event" at dinner, when a little girl-on-girl action—that is, joking—had nearly gotten Keitaro decapitated. Kitsune must have planned that, at least to some degree… but why? What was her endgame?

Whatever it was, it seemed likely that Kitsune wanted Keitaro around, at least for a while… which meant that the brunette had to do her op solo. As helpful as it would be to have the Sly Fox of Hinata Springs on her side, that was a no-go, at least for the moment. Then again, Kitsune had a vested interest in keeping Keitaro around, though Naru didn't know what it was… maybe that in itself might be a weapon.

Naru nodded to herself, satisfied with the possibilities open to her and the thoughts she'd jotted down. She shut her room's blinds and then put the notebook away, hiding it well in her closet. She was far from acting, still, but little pieces of an eventual plan were starting to flit around in her mind.

* * *

Keitaro had to admit it—Kitsune could be decent company when she wasn't throwing herself at him, or other girls. She was helpful and polite and didn't seem to get distracted easily—hey, maybe this was her way of apologizing for what had happened between them already. Maybe she wasn't sort of person to grovel and beg forgiveness; maybe she instead preferred to change her own behavior in order to be more tolerable.

He actually preferred that, because actions spoke louder than words, and just then, Kitsune was being… actually, pretty friendly indeed. Both of them were getting second and third glances—him because of his height and obviously mixed heritage, and her because of how good-looking she was. That they were together made them by far the most interesting sight in the sleeping hot springs town.

Keitaro barely noticed this, however. He was too busy looking around and attempting to memorize where this shop was, how to get to that restaurant, and which way to go to get to the bus stop quickly. Of course, he preferred the idea of biking to cram school, and eventually Todai itself, but foot traffic in Tokyo was supposed to be horrible. He'd save a lot of time, and a _lot_ of frayed nerves just by walking and taking the bus…

"And that's Hinata Springs in a nutshell," Kitsune said, some forty five minutes after they'd left the inn. She looked up at Keitaro, grinned, and folded her arms over—not under—her bust. That was a bit of a feat, for her, owing to the size of her—biceps.

Nah, just kidding, you know what I mean. But Kitsune had to watch her body language very closely indeed to be sure not to appear as if she was having another go at Keitaro, and that was hard, after years of using her good—looks, to get her way with men (and, well, one or two women as well).

The vixen was sly and sexual by nature, but for the moment, she had to mask herself around Keitaro. Let him think that she'd acted up in his room; let him believe that the real her was friendly, polite, and sexually conservative. In time, he'd be so smitten with her that he couldn't think… all in good time.

"So, what do you think of our little home town?" she asked. Keitaro was still looking around, as if wondering if that was all there was to the area. She reminded herself that he was from Islamabad, and while she knew next to nothing about the Pakistani capital, she did assume, correctly, that it was a sprawling metropolis.

"Well, it's definitely nice," Keitaro said a moment later. He sounded a bit unsure, until he faced the vixen and gave her a slight smile. "I think I could get used to living here… could definitely get used to living here. …Hey, thanks for showing me around, Kitsune-san. I owe you one."

The American slang phrase came out a bit odd in Japanese, but Kitsune was a fan of several American TV shows, and she got the gist of what Keitaro meant. Then, of course, she grinned as he winced, realizing that yes, in fact, he owed her one, bigtime, for what she'd done—or not done—in response to his crashing into the hot springs uninvited. Again.

"Don't worry about it, sug," Kitsune reassured him. "Just… take your time settling in, and give the girls time to accommodate you. You are a big guy, after all… you can't just slip in and hope for everything to be okay."

"Yeah, I guess not," Keitaro said, still looking around to memorize the layout of the town. "I guess they need to stretch to fit me in their lives… if I go too fast, they might get hurt—bless you, Kitsune-san."

The vixen had just sneezed, then coughed. She took her blowing her nose with a tissue to ensure that she had a straight face—really, Keitaro was too precious. He was utterly naïve—damn it was going to be hard to not just mess with him because she could. With a guy like him, there were so many possibilities…

"Say, Kei-kun, it's getting dark… we ought to head back to Hinata Inn." He started to nod, but Kitsune stopped him from leaving with an inviting, but not sexual grin.

"We _ought_ to," she said. "But that doesn't mean we have to. Remember Dragon Bar and Grill near the bus stop—why don't we head there, maybe get a drink?"

Unfortunately, Kitsune didn't know that Keitaro was not a fan of alcohol. He'd had it, of course, on a few occasions, but it was mostly just sake with his dad. Once, he'd tried beer, but he didn't really like it—and then there was the moral aspect of things. Keitaro had never been drunk, and never planned to be, and in his opinion, one drink led to two, led to three, led to six, fifteen, fifty, ad infinitum…

"Well… I don't know, Kitsune-san," Keitaro said. By then, the vixen was already examining him closely—nothing about him escaped her observation. His brow was furrowed, and he seemed to be thinking. Was he offended? She didn't think so, but with any more pushing from her, he might be.

"I think… I'm not in the mood for drinking tonight. Why don't I buy you a, uhm, margarita, or something, and I'll have some Coke? Just to thank you for everything that you've done for me."

Immediately, Kitsune smiled. "Sounds good to me, sug. C'mon—let's go."

She took another slight risk, then, and tugged on Keitaro's sleeve, not his wrist, much less his hand. Physical contact was a powerful weapon, but in the case of Keitaro, it really might be a double-edged sword.

For now, it worked. Keitaro flushed, the slightest amount, as feminine flesh neared his, but then just blinked and realized he was walking along, zombie-like, to follow Kitsune's rapid jaunt to the bar. She had pulled him along as if he was a dog on a leash, but she had done so without even touching him—just what the Hell was going on?

Kitsune knew, of course, but she wouldn't say it. Not to him, not to anyone, not at this stage, at least. Her plans to permanently ensnare Keitaro with everything about her were far from fruition, but they had already started to have real world effects…

* * *

(I guess I could have ended this 'un earlier, but I said to myself, hey, why not give you lads a treat? Anyway, this chapter's a good 17,000 words. It's not massive volume, but heck, I'm working on a few projects just now, plus RL stuff. One reasonably-sized chapter per month is about as good as I can do.

Oh yeah—if you get the several references/shoutouts I made here, you get points! You also get mad points if you understand the math jokes I made. Let me know if you earn any points.

I do have a small dilemma, though, and so I call upon you, the reader, to give me a hand. Please answer the following questions in your (detailed, long, and, of course, shining) review:

Should Keitaro hit up a cram school next, start studying with Naru, or take a trip to Yokohama to check out where the Yokohama Invitational is going to be held? Furthermore, should Shinobu, Su, or Motoko play a secondary (or tertiary) role in the next chapter?

I think I'll probably have the next chapter up sometime next month, if all goes well. Will it be as long as this one? Maybe, maybe not, but you can expect that the story and characters will continue to develop. We've got two schemers hard at work here, plus extra interpersonal forces from the rest of the lasses. What's going to happen?

To find out, review, alert and fave as appropriate, and look out for the next chapter. So, until next time, this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction—see you soon!)


	3. Chapter 3

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Three

* * *

(Reception on numero dos was good, and so, up, up, and away! I will still require five thoughtful reviews on this chapter to go on.)

* * *

Kitsune knew very well indeed that squeezing too hard, particularly at first, would simply force more star systems to slip through her fingers. She therefore decided to leave Keitaro more or less alone the next day. If she oversaturated him with her presence, he might well push back, consciously or otherwise. Oh, sure, she'd give him friendly waves or maybe even share brief, two-minute chit-chat breaks with him if they passed one another in the hall, but apart from that, she had to give him time and space. He wasn't the kind of guy that would respond well to constant attention.

Besides, she'd given him _plenty_ to think about the day before. Keep him guessing, the vixen thought, and he'd eventually decide that she was a decent lass, and relatively benevolent—and then, and only then, would she be able to move in for the kill.

But she'd have to clean herself up, just a little bit, for him to come to accept her. Oh, sure, in time he'd be infatuated her, vices or not, but Kitsune knew that Keitaro was still a fairly conservative guy. He might have bought her a margarita, but that was _barely_ a drink and that looked to be on the very far limit of what he might do, at least now, before she'd thoroughly corrupted him with her influence.

After a late breakfast, the vixen more or less kept to her room and her TV, laptop, writing, betting, and booze. That day, hers would be a quiet yet enjoyable existence. That day, she would not be the primary woman in Keitaro's life.

* * *

Keitaro decided, immediately after waking up, that he wanted to clear out of the inn for a day. Get a feel for Japan—maybe he'd wonder around Tokyo for a while, and see his pie in the sky school. Or maybe he'd visit the famous red light districts, controlled by Yakuza and Mafiosi alike. Or—no, Keitaro decided roughly ten seconds later precisely what he wanted to do with his day…

Specific plans would have to wait, though. For now, Keitaro needed a breakfast and a few hours of biking to wake up. Although it was tempting to bike to his destination, Keitaro knew that he'd likely need to get an idea of how Japanese public transport worked at some point, and besides, what if he wasted hours getting stuck in Japanese foot traffic, rumored to be the worst in the world? Getting from the airport to Hinata Springs had been Hellish enough, but going through the heart of Kanagawa?

Keitaro might like to burn thousands of calories a day biking. But he was no masochist.

Shinobu usually woke up before everyone else.

Usually.

She thought that that day was no different from the rest of them—she got up more or less with the Sun and after spending a brief period of time dressing and preparing herself for the day, she made her way into the kitchen and considered breakfast. What might everyone be in the mood for, a windy, somewhat chilly day like that? Something hearty, sure, but not too much. Summer was ending and autumn was approaching, so there was no need to accelerate the weight gain that Japanese women (supposedly) underwent that season.

Maybe she'd keep it light, then, Shinobu thought. Spicy omelets with fruit salad... that might work. A powerful _zing_ of flavor might keep the girls' minds off of how little they were actually eating.

The raven-haired middle schooler was getting ready to prepare the first meal of the day. She'd gotten a large frying pan out and was putting the heat on when she heard a noise—and it wasn't that of anyone hitting the showers, or perhaps the hot springs. It was of the front door being slid open…

Though Shinobu was cautious and shy by nature, she didn't remotely consider the possibility that she was undergoing a home invasion. That kind of thing simply did not happen in Japan—ever. Maybe there was just a particularly large gust of wind, and the lock had hit a glitch or something…

She peered out of the kitchen to see what was going on and almost immediately pulled her head back in, blushing madly and only barely resisting the temptation to bite her nails. There he was, entering the house with several grocery bags in his hand—who in Hinata Springs was even open at that hour, barely minutes after dawn? But Keitaro had definitely bought a lot of stuff; even then he was hauling one, two, three, four bags toward the kitchen. Oh no, that meant that he would see her and she had only combed her hair for a few minutes and she had only washed her face so much and she hadn't put on makeup—

"Oh, good morning, Maehara-san," the auburn-haired boy said. "I didn't think anyone else would be up this early."

"_H-h-h-hai_, g-good morning, kanrinin-san," the young girl answered, trying hard to keep her voice steady. She tried to glance at Keitaro at least once, but that didn't work; it was best if she just stayed focused on what she was doing and tried to keep her shaking hands from slipping on the knife so that she accidentally lopped off a finger. "_Ano_, I usually wake up so early… s-so that I can make breakfast."

"Ah, that's very nice of you, Maehara-san."

A few seconds passed in relative silence, as Keitaro searched for a place to keep whatever he'd bought. The pantry—that looked good, there was plenty of room there, vertically and horizontally. He began to unload the bags' contents into the culinary closet, and as his back was turned, Shinobu took the chance to peek back and see what he was up to.

"Oh, that's a lot of cereal, k-kanrinin-san…"

"Yeah…" Keitaro replied. "I have a big appetite. If I don't eat enough, I'll wither away into nothing… seriously. One of my friends from home did the math… I probably burn about 7000 calories a day off season… and when I'm on season, whew." Keitaro grinned. "It's hard for me to eat _enough_. I feel Michael Phelps's pain."

Shinobu had never met an honest to God athlete before, but there was Keitaro, alive and standing and talking to her. Maybe it was because his sport was one that required stamina, not power, that she wasn't overwhelmed by his presence. If he had been a wrestler or a boxer or a weightlifter, then poor little Shinobu might well have fainted the moment he walked through the door. As it was, the shy ravenhead was having a tough time formulating cogent responses.

"W-wow, kanrinin-san. That's pretty amazing. You must really love what you do."

"Yeah," Keitaro replied, in a somewhat distant, dreamy voice. "It's an adventure every day."

He searched for an appropriate dish to eat with, for a moment, until he realized that the serving bowl he used to eat breakfast at home was, of course, still at home. It looked like he'd have to eat out of a normal ceramic bowl and just refill it—several times.

"So, what are your plans for today, Maehara-san?" Keitaro asked, simply to be polite. "School doesn't start for a few days yet, does it?"

"Y-yes, I mean, n-nothing, I mean—I don't really have plans for the day and yes, school does _not_ start for a f-few more days, kanrinin-san."

"Good, good…"

The conversation ended then. Shinobu didn't realize that until a few seconds passed without Keitaro saying anything else, and by then, even her fragile guts had built up enough for her to act somewhat normally around the eighteen year old. She began to use her knife again as she usually did, with the power and finesse of a tenth degree black belt karate champion—although she was just cutting up a few melons and such. She cracked several eggs, then—well, really, more than several—and began to whip up the aromatic mixture that would soon be thrown into the scalding hot pan to make omelets for the inn's tenants.

She was, of course, struggling to think up something interesting to say. In comparison to Keitaro, she was ditchwater dull; even she realized that, but there had to be something—anything—maybe—no? Screw it—she'd just say something and hope it developed into something.

"K-kanrinin-san…"

"_Hai_, Maehara-san?"

"_Ano_, you don't have to talk to me so formally, kanrinin-san. Please address me by my first name…"

That was friendly of her, Keitaro thought. Apart from Kitsune, none of the girls had really extended the hand of friendship to him—but it looked like Shinobu was.

"Thank you, Shinobu… chan," Keitaro said, testing the way the new title felt to say. "Since I'm addressing you by your first name, please return the favor. I'm just Keitaro, alright? Or Kei, if you can't pronounce… such a complicated Japanese name."

Shinobu couldn't help but smile at the joke. She flipped one of the omelets she was making—twice, backward, even as she mixed together a family-sized portion of fruit salad—and glanced back to see that Keitaro was starting help himself to cereal and milk and orange juice. It was slightly uncouth for him to begin to eat before everyone else was even downstairs, Shinobu thought—but then again, he might have obligations so early in the morning… then again again, he didn't know that the residents of Hinata Inn took their meals together… …and then again again again, it would probably take him quite some time indeed to eat, since he had to down so much food, and he apparently couldn't do so as quickly as Su did.

Wait—they'd quit talking again, and now, the soft sounds of molars mashing up overprocessed bits of grain and carbohydrate told Shinobu that she would be wisest not to try to talk to Keitaro again, at least for the moment. He was eating… and when he was finished eating, there would be other people around him, people that were more talkative and attractive than she ever would be.

Shinobu's thoughts took a depressing turn. In just a few moments, the rest of the girls would be down, and when they were, why would Keitaro want to look at her, much less interact with her? She'd be cast to the side, and she didn't blame him for that. After all, she was a boring, pale little mouse—

"Hey, Shinobu-chan, if you don't have anything to do for the day… why not go around with me? I want to head to Yokohama, via public transport… and the last thing I want to do is confuse one train for another and end up in Okinawa."

Now that was a shock, to be sure, and it was lucky that Shinobu was pale by nature. Otherwise, the chalky shade of white her skin quickly became would have concerned Keitaro, but even that wouldn't have been such a bad thing. In fact, it would have been great if she'd fainted—then, maybe, he'd take her into his tanned, lithe arms, weeping over her until the ambulance came and then stay with her all night at the hospital while she recovered—

She was day-dreaming, she realized, and not replying. And so Shinobu spoke almost in a panic, racing to get words out before she was really prepared to.

"Y-y-y-that sounds great, K-Keitaro-san," she stammered. "I would be happy to go out with you—I mean, to Yokohama. Why do you want to go to Yokohama, Keitaro-san?"

Curiosity engendered Shinobu to speak the last sentence, at least, in a normal tone. She glanced back at him while she cooked, performing another double backflip with the omelet she was making—that impressed Keitaro, somewhat, and reminded him of a stunt he'd pulled some weeks ago in a jump off a peak not far from Swat…

"I want to check out where the big Yokohama Invitational is going to be held," Keitaro said. "Just… the general area, so that I know the climate, what the soil and plantlife is like, all that stuff. I don't want to go in blind, if possible... am I making sense, Shinobu-chan?"

"H-_hai_," the young ravenhead replied. "I think I understand, Keitaro-san. _Ano_, I don't know Yokohama very well… but I used to use public transport a lot, so…"

"Excellent! _Shukria_, Shinobu-chan—I mean, _arigato_."

It was rare, when Keitaro was speaking Urdu with his friends, for Japanese or English to slip into his speech, although those two were the languages he tended to use at home. But, several times already, he'd had to exert conscious effort to use the still-unfamiliar Japanese tongue where it seemed that the lingua franca of Pakistan would be more appropriate. He contemplated the possibility that soon, he'd come to use Japanese as naturally as he used Urdu—still there were a few sticking points for him with the former language—and maybe even be able to get kanji quickly and accurately.

"_If only I had seen that little damned mark when I got here,"_ Keitaro sighed. _"Then, no one would think that I'm a pervert…"_

"_Ohayo_, Shinobu… kanrinin-san."

It took a Hellish voice to get Keitaro's head out of the clouds. He jumped reflexively, just a little bit—not enough that Shinobu would notice, but there was no way that a trained martial artist would miss it. The violent glint Keitaro saw in Motoko's eye made it clear that she knew that he feared her. She knew it, and it pleased her—albeit perhaps just a tiny little bit.

He didn't like that, though. He didn't like it at all, and he knew he had to talk to her about what had happened the previous evening. But perhaps… perhaps just a little bit later. After all, he had plans, didn't he, that involved Yokohama—and Shinobu. All he had to do was to live through breakfast, and then he could vanish from the inn until evening.

And so he refilled his cereal bowl and continued to eat. In doing so, he tried to avoid looking at Motoko, mostly to keep the already formidable levels of stress within him low—he just kept eating, quickly, in order to minimize the potentially life-threatening time he spent in her presence.

But he couldn't help but realize that the kendo girl sat down—albeit in a different seat than she usually did (now, she was across from Keitaro rather than next to him) without offering Shinobu a hand in, well, anything. She simply stayed where she was, serenely, and accepted the tea and utensils and dishes Shinobu gave her without a word of thanks.

That was somewhat offputting. Keitaro really didn't know how to react—so he decided not to. If Motoko wanted to be an elitist samurai b—no, Keitaro reminded himself, he didn't swear, even in his mind—anyway, it was up to her to behave as she saw fit. All Keitaro could do was to alter his own behavior.

"Here, Shinobu-chan—let me give you a hand."

"Oh, _ano_, arigato, K-Keitaro-san… that's very helpful."

Keitaro had always secretly had the phobia of carrying some delicious meal cooked up by someone—and then dropping it all over the floor. For that reason, he didn't touch the food or tea. Instead, he simply laid out the utensils, dishes and cups, which was pretty easy, since the girls of Hinata Inn seemed to prefer chopsticks over all else. Whereas in America, a full repertoire of food delivery implements were required.

Then again, in Pakistan, all one generally used to eat was one's hands. Unless one was trying to impress the womenfolk. Then, one ate in the traditional British fashion, as pompously and inefficiently as possible.

With a surprising amount of energy, Keitaro moved around the table until his task was complete. He didn't often realize it, but he was a real morning person—despite the ungodly hour at which he commonly awoke, he was almost always chipper and upbeat. This was in contrast with Motoko's tranquility—effectively, lethargy.

"It's not polite to start eating before everyone else, kanrinin-san. Perhaps you should learn some of the etiquette of your new… residence, before you settle in."

It was, of course, not Shinobu that said that—it was Motoko. It seemed that she was as icy as she appeared, and Keitaro had to admit that he was chilled by her unneeded, her backhanded slap at the back of his head. His ears grew red, but he didn't say anything in response immediately.

"W-well, Aoyama-san, you see, it usually takes me a long time to eat. So, it would be best if I started first, instead of finishing last and making everyone wait on me. _That_ would be truly impolite—ah, let me help you with that, Shinobu-chan…"

How the diminutive ravenhead managed to support what she was carrying was a source of great confusion for Keitaro, no matter how briefly Shinobu held the several dishes she'd made and walked with them to the table. And it was a source of great confusion to anyone that knew Keitaro well enough to be aware of his dangerous clumsiness how he managed to help her out without tripping, falling, embarrassing himself, groping a middle schooler, and creating a mess that would take hours to clean up.

No, that would come later, Keitaro reminded himself with a grim acceptance of his fate and his characteristics. He'd enjoy his good fortune while he could—and maybe if he was really lucky, he wouldn't be blasted halfway to the Moon by taking a wrong turn at the train station. Even he might not survive a hit by a vehicle moving at potentially hundreds of kilometers per hour.

Now that Shinobu's food was out in the open, it wasn't long before the rest of the girls started to come down. It wasn't long at all—it was like a switch had been thrown, because within fifteen seconds, all three of the others had were in sight of the table.

* * *

"'_Some of us oughta remember to wear more clothes around the house…' hypocrite."_ Kitsune grinned to herself. It was pretty rare for Naru to go around dressed (or undressed?) as she was. Maybe the previous night had just been hot for her. Who could tell?

Regardless of the cause, however, the cowlicked brunette wasn't wearing much that morning—just a pair of short shorts and a tank top that wasn't shy about showing off her—shoulders. Both were a little, well, sexy, and Kitsune couldn't help but wonder if under it all, her younger friend was, actually, attracted to the fair-haired foreigner.

Now wasn't the best time to ask such a question, after all. In fact, there probably never would be a good time to ask that sort of a question. Naru would never admit it to herself, much less to anyone else, ever, if she liked a guy that had (albeit inadvertently) seen her bathing. And even if she did subconsciously like Keitaro, well, that was just too bad for her. This time around, Naru's feelings would have to take the back seat to Kitsune's plans.

"_Ohayo_, _mina_," the vixen said vaguely. The greeting was tiredly replied by all, as was expected, but Kitsune made sure to glance at Keitaro and give him a smile before she slid into her seat.

Seating arrangements were similar to the way they had been the night before, except this time around, Motoko was opposite of Keitaro. Kitsune could see that things had not cooled off between them since the previous evening, and in fact that there was a good possibility that a new source of tension had been created—she just didn't know what it was.

But it probably didn't matter, the vixen thought. It was alright if they absolutely hated one another (although she assumed that emotions of that magnitude were one-sided) as long as Motoko wasn't pushed to seriously injure or kill Keitaro, and Keitaro wasn't pushed to evict Motoko. The former would make it that much more difficult for her to ensnare him, and the latter would seriously shake the already tenuous social dynamic that existed in Hinata Inn.

Then again, things might be easier with one less threat to Keitaro about, one less thing keeping him on-guard and uneasy—one less busty femme with whom to compete. The idea of getting a friend kicked out… well, it didn't appeal to Kitsune, but it was not entirely off the table. Besides, once she had Keitaro where she wanted him to be, under her thumb, she could get Motoko back. She could definitely beleaguer Keitaro into letting her back in.

But, Kitsune reminded herself, scheming could wait until later. Much later. Maybe even the next day. For now, she was going to relax, enjoy breakfast, then get to her booze and perhaps a few rounds of horse races. Hey, maybe Keitaro knew some folks in Pakistan that could bet for her on the races there; she'd always wanted a piece of that action.

Huh. This was interesting. The fact that Motoko had moved to the other side of the table actually did somewhat throw off the usual seating arrangements. Su sat next to Motoko—always had—and that filled up Naru's usual seat. That meant that the one side of the table was occupied by Shinobu, Su, and Motoko, and that Keitaro was now sandwiched between Kitsune and Naru.

He really was a big guy, whose presence within would change even the way the girls sat down at the table.

"_Oro_? What's so funny, Kitsune?"

"Ah, nothing, Naru. Just thought of somethin'…" the fox replied distantly. She took her seat, then, which gave everyone else the sanction to start serving themselves.

The meal Shinobu had cooked up was delicious as usual. Kitsune was sure to say as much at least once or twice throughout the meal—after all, she knew for sure that the young ravenhead had, shall we say, _pressing_ self-esteem issues. And if she suffered a mental collapse of some sort, then it was back to ramen or eating out every meal of the day.

She shuddered at the thought. Then, the Sly Fox of Hinata Inn looked up and asked a general question directed at all members of the table, although she did glance at Keitaro for a few extra seconds toward the end of the sentence.

"So, what plans for the day?"

"I have to do paperwork at cram school," Naru replied first, sullenly. "It'll probably end up taking the whole day." She sighed.

"I'm running a few tests on [CLASSIFIED]! If I'm lucky, they'll be able to hit [CLASSIFIED] miles per hour within ten seconds. Mwahahaha!"

Keitaro couldn't help but feel real fear at that. He'd barely survived Su's first assault. Could he really go toe to toe with military-grade gear like that?...

"I will spend my day practicing my katas and doing heavy calisthenics," Motoko said in a calm, level tone. Then, a breath of malice entered her voice as her eyes glittered dangerously and flickered to Keitaro. "I have become aware of a serious threat to both my peers and my internal balance. In time, I must be prepared to eliminate that threat… through any means necessary."

The level of violent, exterminationist rhetoric was severely disquieting, and not just for Keitaro. Everyone at the table knew precisely what Motoko was talking about, and any violence she did him was a threat to the several schemes currently being prepared. Shinobu didn't like it, Kitsune didn't like it, and Naru didn't exactly like it, either, because she wanted Keitaro to get kicked out—if Motoko caught a charge of murder or assault, that wouldn't help her in the slightest.

"O-oh, _ano_, I'll b-be going out with K-Keitaro-san—I mean, outside, t-to Yokohama… at least for a few hours…"

Now that was interesting news. Interesting, and unexpected, especially for Kitsune. She knew within a second of glancing at Shinobu, and her prominently reddened cheeks, that the ravenhead had the hots for Keitaro—but who could have guessed that Keitaro was into young children?

Then again, the fox reflected, even if he was, that wasn't so bad. She would be happy to satisfy Keitaro's lolicon by flattening her chest with cloth wrappings, increasing the pitch of her voice, and being all cutesy with stuffed animals and things. After all, he might be a big guy, but even if she played a little girl, her true self would remain the same and she would never be split apart by him or any other man—

And then Kitsune glanced at Keitaro and realized something: he did not like Shinobu. Well, he probably liked her, but he didn't _like_ her. Even more interestingly, he didn't seem to realize that she liked him.

These were major revelations. Keitaro had mentioned that he'd never had a girlfriend in his life, but Kitsune had by now induced—correctly—that he'd never so much as been on a real date with a girl. Sure, she imagined that he'd gone here and there with girls that were friends, or girlfriends of friends, or in large groups with one or two female members—but he clearly was absolutely naïve when it came to these sorts of things.

Now, Shinobu was no competition. Kitsune knew that for certain—what did Shinobu have that she didn't? Skills in the kitchen, to be sure, but that was about it. With all due respect to the pale ravenhead, she was exhaustively boring and as quiet as a mouse. Even after living with her for several months, Kitsune had yet to hear her speak a full paragraph at any one time.

Then again, could this situation be used to the fox's advantage? The answer was yes, of course, but how? Kitsune didn't want Shinobu out of Hinata Inn, or even seriously hurt… What to do, what to do?

"Yeah, I needed a guide," Keitaro explained. "I'm no good with public transportation, or written Japanese, so going to Yokohama by train is really my kryptonite…" He grinned weakly at the self-deprecating joke, before smiling gratefully at Shinobu again.

It was then that Kitsune realized that despite his conservatism and apparent lack of confidence around women, Keitaro was not at all intimidated by Shinobu. Maybe it was because he didn't even see her as a woman—just a young, genderless child of some sort. He didn't mind hanging around with her because that's how he perceived her—he apparently didn't yet realize that what he really wanted (or what Kitsune would, in time, force him to want) was a strong soul at his side.

Could Shinobu be a tool that Kitsune could use to get Keitaro to realize how lonely he was? How miserable his life would be if he didn't start to put himself on the dating scene soon?

The potential was there, at least in the smallest way, and so Kitsune kept her options open. For today, however, she wouldn't act. Today, she was just relaxing.

* * *

"_This is disgusting. A pervert, _and_ a pedophile," _Naru angrily thought to herself. Shinobu was just a child—surely Keitaro had enough honor to avoid corrupting her? No, it didn't seem that he did…

And yet the brunette could detect no hint of malice or otherwise ill intent on the fair-haired boy's face. It was almost as if… his intentions were as simple and innocent as they seemed, even though that couldn't be so. It had to be that he'd doped himself up on something produced in an Iraqi chemical weapons lab—sooner or later he'd explode with lust, or with fire and a hail of homemade shrapnel. International flight security couldn't be foolproof, after all. It could well be that Keitaro just wanted to get a taste of the many virgins waiting for him in Heaven. That could well be it, Naru thought to herself.

Her thoughts grew increasingly paranoid and ridiculous over the next few moments. True, she remained more or less normal to all appearances, but that was just a farce. Even then, she could barely spend a second not waiting to see the _gaijan_ next to her booted out physically as well as metaphorically.

And yet he was doing nothing wrong. He wasn't talking much and he was eating a lot—the glutton—but he wasn't really doing anything Naru could call wrong. He wasn't even looking at her—he'd glanced at her once and greeted her when she'd come down, but that was it. Since then, he'd almost pointedly avoided looking at her, only turning his head halfway when she was saying something addressed to him or the group at large.

And it wasn't like Naru was unappealing then, either. The only other times when she was wearing so little were when she was bathing, or changing—and… that's about it. She was an attractive girl and she knew that. She was curved in all the right places and yet slim, and she had good skin and a pretty face, and she knew that she was probably blushing just a little bit despite her best efforts—after all, he might be a pervert but he was still a man, and therefore a bizarre creature to Naru.

But he just wasn't reacting to her. No, it was more than that—he wasn't even looking at her, and that was extremely strange. Naru's opinion of guys was very poor indeed (and, sadly, probably quite accurate). As far as she knew, all it took was the possibility of seeing a little skin to get them to come running from miles around. And yet she was sitting there, half-naked, with a guy directly at her side that didn't seem to be even slightly interested in her.

"_Did he beat off this morning or something?"_ she asked herself, shooting him a sly, sidelong glance. _"Or am I just being too modest?"_

The former possibility seemed far, far more likely to Naru, but it wasn't going to make her give up. If she had even the slightest chance to get a rise out of Keitaro (figuratively or literally) she was going to take it, and besides, she needed to figure out how he reacted to different things. No reaction was a reaction in itself.

She glanced down at herself. She couldn't easily show more of her legs, especially while she was sitting down. But her midriff and chest… she could do a little bit with those intimate bodily regions. Just a little bit. That's all it would take to make any pervert's mouth water.

But how to do it discretely? That took a bit of thought—and, after a few seconds, Naru decided to simply be very gradual and casual about it. It might take a few minutes for her to really show some skin, but the next time Keitaro took a look at her, well, that would be the start of his undoing.

Trying not to blush too heavily, as that would betray her intentions to the rest of the girls, Naru shrugged one shoulder just so, wiggling it in its socket to dislodge the already tenuous grasp the strap of her tank top had on her flesh. That didn't cause it to fall, of course, so the next time the cowlicked brunette brought a morsel of food to her mouth, she very sly flicked a finger just a little bit—and that bared the shoulder closest to Keitaro entirely.

She swore she saw his eye flicker toward her, briefly, but he did not react. All right—now, she was really going to up the ante.

Placing one hand in her lap, she tugged on the fabric of her top. It flexed just a little bit before deforming, slowly sliding downward. More and more of her chest was bared, but still Keitaro was not reacting—no, of course he wasn't reacting, he wasn't even looking.

By now, Naru couldn't keep a slight, angry flush from her cheeks. All right, so he was being stubborn, was he? Well, this time, she wasn't going to play around.

"Kei-kun, would you pass me the water, please?"

"Ah, _hai_, Narusegawa-san."

He took the pitcher by its handle and maneuvered it over the table toward Naru. In doing so, he was unable to avoid glancing at her, just for a second—long enough to see that she wasn't properly dressed, but not long enough to notice that she'd reached up, subtly, and tilted the bottom of the pitcher—

Disaster was averted, then, by pure chance. To be sure, a little bit of water did get on Naru, but she wasn't doused from bust to toe as had been her attention. Keitaro had felt the pitcher get wobbly and simply moved it upward, fast—and the way he did it, and the way Naru reached for it made it look like when he'd handed it to her, she hadn't taken it properly.

"_Masha'Allah_—I'm so sorry, Narusegawa," Keitaro said reflexively. "I'm—here, let me get out a towel. I'll be right back."

In less than a second after Naru was shocked by having a small amount of ice-cold water dumped on her, Keitaro was out of the room. She was so confused by his instant, responsible reaction that she nearly spilled the rest of the water on her—in the end, she managed to set the pitcher down on the table, but it had been a close call.

All at once, Naru became aware of how ridiculous she looked. She felt like a slut—barely dressed and with what little clothing she was wearing pulled askew and wet, she almost wanted to just leave the table and scream into a pillow. There was contact on her shoulder—but it was just Kitsune, pulling up the strap of her tank top with a wry grin on her lips.

"Calm down there, sug. You might want to sleep more than four hours every night…"

Though Kitsune appeared light-hearted and joking, she opened her eyes just a sliver, and Naru knew that that meant that the vixen was actually being somewhat serious. Well, at least that meant that Naru's schemes remained shrouded, for the moment—she was just embarrassed and wet and unable to make real advances on the topic of Keitaro, and she was even forced to thank him when he handed her a towel with his eyes averted.

Naru had made a fool of herself, and she knew it. She didn't allow herself to be saddened though—now, she was enraged.

And it was all Keitaro's fault.

* * *

Keitaro was not the sort of guy that liked to spend hours and hours preparing and making plans and doing this and that instead of actually getting out there and doing stuff. Some might call him hasty, but he preferred to think of himself as spontaneous. A second's worth of thought was all it took to get him out to the store at dawn to stock up on cereal, and a few minutes' worth of checking that he had plastic, ID, and a few other essentials—like his pants—were all it took to let Keitaro know that he was ready to rock and roll.

He recalled his encounter with Kitsune the day before, however. Girls took some time to get ready to go out, so after breakfast, Keitaro simply implied that he wanted to head to Yokohama as soon as possible before heading up to his room and sitting down to his computer.

He didn't have too many Facebook friends, and so it didn't take him more than a minute or two to answer the several queries directed to him about life in Japan. Yes, he was okay; yes, it was an amazing nation; and yes, there really were used panty vending machines.

Then, though, Keitaro saw a new chat window flash open. And the moment he read the sender's name, his eyes narrowed.

"Sakata Kentaro… what do you want?"

Keitaro was a nice guy. He got along with almost everyone he met immediately, and although he was a little, well, shy and socially awkward, _everyone_ came to know within days of meeting him that he was easygoing when it came to most things, and almost obsessed when it came to biking. Sure, competition was all well and good, but at the end of the day, there was nothing better than shaking hands with an opponent and heading out for a leisurely ride through the city. This was the kind of mindset that had gained him friends among the stiffest of competitors—but not Sakata Kentaro.

That guy was in the encyclopedia, under the entry for "asshole". And not just in Keitaro's opinion. He was a jerk to the core; mean-spirited, snotty, arrogant, and fairly racist as well. Unfortunately, he was also fantastically rich—his father was Keitaro's father's boss, as well as the owner of several profitable businesses in the US, Pakistan, Japan, Hong Kong and Seoul as well. He was a full-blooded Japanese, yet taller still than Keitaro at a cool 6'4", and he was the kind of guy that wasn't at all shy about using his imposing physical presence to get his way.

Keitaro was tempted to just ignore the son-of-a-bitch, but something inside of him suggested that Sakata Kentaro had something interesting to say. And so he replied.

"Sup?"

"How are you doing in Japan, half-breed?"

Keitaro bit back the desire to just slam his laptop shut and leave.

"What do you want, Ken?"

"Got the letter last week… am I gonna see you at the big YI?"

Last week… that was odd. The Yokohama Invitational did not use email, partly in order to maintain tradition, and partly because email simply wasn't as secure as snail mail. But Keitaro had received his letter a full month ago—and he lived in Pakistan. He wasn't sure, but Kentaro's official residence seemed to be either in Tokyo or DC. It didn't make sense that he, in Islamabad, had received his invitation so much before Ken…

Confused, Keitaro tapped out a reply.

"Just last week?"

There was a pause.

"You could just say no, you mutt. Lol. I'm not surprised. The Yokohama Invitational has standards."

Keitaro was seriously tempted to curse Kentaro out in the several languages he had command of, but he decided that it simply wasn't worth the trouble. He simply signed out of Facebook, and then shut his laptop down. He'd see Kentaro at the YI, alright—for all of five seconds. From then on out, it would only be Kentaro that saw him, vanishing down the mountainside…

"K-Keitaro-san? _Ano_, I'm ready to go…"

Keitaro stood up, then, and turned around. He was struck by how practical Shinobu dressed, in slight contrast to Kitsune. A sort of sleeveless hoody over a longsleeved tee and a knee-length skirt were all she needed in addition to a purse, it seemed. If Keitaro had looked more closely, he might have realized that the young girl had put on a small amount of makeup—but he didn't.

"Great—thanks again, Shinobu-chan," the fair-haired boy said. He patted his pockets, one last time, and then grabbed a light jacket out of his closet before briskly walking out of his room and then the inn itself.

* * *

Keitaro was remarkably grateful that he'd brought Shinobu along. She wasn't bad company, as far as he was concerned, provided that he remembered that she was around. About all the conversation they shared was when she'd mentioned regret that she hadn't been able to cook something to bring along for lunch—Keitaro had simply told her not to worry, and that he'd take her somewhere nice to thank her for what she was doing for him.

After that, she'd stuttered into blushing silence, and Keitaro had had to hold out an arm to prevent her from killing herself by walking into the street.

Now, they were in the heart of Tokyo itself. They'd taken a bus to a significant train station not far from Hinata Springs, and while it was possible to use the bus system to get all the way to Yokohama, the idea of remembering all of those stops, transfers, and rolling schedules made Keitaro's head hurt. It was only a few minutes slower to use the train—and all Keitaro had to do to not get himself lost was remember to get off at the proper stop.

Hopefully, he thought, he wouldn't miss the step back onto the platform and plunge beneath the tracks. That would ruin his day, his biking career, and his life…

The train station, surprisingly, was not jam-packed. At least, not right then. Keitaro could tell from its sheer size that it was built to accommodate an extremely high volume of passengers, and everything ran like clockwork. Trains arrived precisely on time, left precisely on time, and the few other people that were around the station then walked around with a mechanical, dronelike precision.

Keitaro felt rather out of place as he was, with his hands in the pockets of the jacket, watching the trains pass by. Theirs wouldn't arrive for another few minutes; until then, he was stuck just standing there and trying not to attract too many stares. It didn't help that he was three inches taller than the average Japanese—he'd rarely felt more awkward and out of place in his life.

"_A-ano_, Keitaro-san… this is our train."

"Oh—_arigato_, Shinobu-chan."

How she knew that the train was coming a second before it zoomed into the station, Keitaro didn't know. Maybe she'd installed some sort of app on her cell phone, or something… or maybe this was just an ability that all born and raised Japanese had. If that was so, well, he'd always be an outsider.

They made their way into one of the first cars. At first, Keitaro was worried that he'd end up in a situation that had been made famous by YouTube—what if more people needed to take the train than there was space? Would conductors come to literally cram the cars until they were packed literally until they were bursting at the seams?

Fortunately, there weren't many people that wanted to go to Yokohama right then. There weren't many at all—the train was barely filled to 20% of its sitting capacity. Shinobu and Keitaro were practically alone in their car, and so Keitaro was able to feel slightly less out of place—there just weren't enough people around to make him feel awkward.

The view outside wasn't exactly scenic, but it was certainly a new experience for Keitaro. Few metropolises in the world were as massive as the greater Tokyo area, and the parts they traveled past were dominated by skyscrapers atop skyscrapers. Sure, Kei had been to the Big Apple before, but in his opinion, NYC didn't compare to Tokyo. The latter was far cleaner, wealthier, and, well, shinier.

The view of the big city passing them by held Keitaro's interest for all of two minutes. After that, he felt that he was obligated to make conversation with Shinobu out of sheer courtesy, if nothing else. But what to talk with such a quiet young girl about? She was in an entirely different place in her life than Keitaro, and apart from years, a great deal of maturity indeed separated them—or, well, no, not necessarily. Shinobu was only thirteen, but she was already living without her parents—and talking to her didn't feel awkward or like talking to a child at all. He wondered about that—and then realized that he had a topic of conversation.

"So, Shinobu-chan," he said, "you're very, ah, young, to be staying at Hinata Inn."

He followed that statement with a smile, hoping that it would prompt the young ravenhead into speech. For a few moments, then, Keitaro waited—but Shinobu didn't do more than nod and blush and look away.

Perhaps he was being a bit nosey… maybe a more innocent topic would get him further.

"You're a very good cook, Shinobu-chan. How did you learn? Somehow, I know that the other, violent girls at Hinata Inn weren't responsible for teaching you."

Saying something like that around one of said violent girls at Hinata Inn might have gotten Keitaro punched clean through a door, but just then, there was no one around who was likely to catch a charge for assault anytime soon. To be fair, he did feel somewhat guilty about making such a joke, but at least it made Shinobu smile for the briefest of moments.

"_Ano_, it was my mother that taught me how to cook. W-we owned a restaurant in Osaka…"

"_Oro_, that explains it. They must have lined up at the door for cooking like yours, Shinobu-chan."

"Th-thank you, Keitaro-san… but it's really not th-that good."

To be fair, Keitaro had been intentionally flattering the young girl. A little bit of ego boosting was a great way to get people in a talkative mood, in his experience (and as he hadn't yet faced the temporary alcoholism of college years, he didn't know that straight vodka worked wonders as well), and Shinobu seemed not to be an exception to that general rule.

"Oh, it certainly is, Shinobu-chan. I'm not an expert, but I've never had Japanese food like yours. It's really good—I'm not exaggerating."

"Th-th-thank you…"

Conversation threatened to die down again, and this time Keitaro didn't let it not out of simple courtesy, but because he actually felt some curiosity toward his young companion.

"So, tell me, Shinobu-chan… you're still in junior high, right? What high school do you plan to go to?"

"_Ano_, I'm not sure yet. I d-don't know what I want to do with life just yet, Keitaro-san. Not like you… haven't you wanted to go to _Todai_ since you were a y-young boy?"

Keitaro nodded. "Since about as long back as I can remember," he said. "I know it sounds a little silly, to take so much trouble to follow a childhood dream. It's just… something that I feel very strongly about." He paused, briefly. "Sorry if I'm being too personal."

"No, it's alright, Keitaro-san. I understand—and I think you're right… t-to follow your dreams like that, no matter how difficult it is. I wish I had that kind of motivation…"

"Don't worry, Shinobu-chan," Keitaro said. He faced the short ravenhead and smiled. "I have two important dreams in my life, and I've been chasing them for years. But I think that you'll find dreams of your own… very soon. And once you do… it's your responsibility to pursue them. No one can bring you your dreams… if that makes sense."

"H-hai, Keitaro-san," Shinobu said breathlessly—and she couldn't help it. When he looked at her like that, and smiled at her, she forgot to breathe—and so when he turned away, everything came back with a rush and she almost swooned.

They arrived at their destination about a minute later, and Keitaro somehow managed to read the name of the station before Shinobu accumulated the guts to tap him on the shoulder. They left the train and after another brief jaunt through an expansive rail station, they were in the heart of the city itself.

Keitaro had a good idea of where they were, however. A brief glance at his phone said that they were in the right area, and so he nodded to himself, turned to northwest, and began to walk once he was sure that Shinobu was with him. And of course she was with him—there was no one else she'd have preferred to be with, just then. And although they were still in the city, it wouldn't be long until they were all by themselves in the forest, and when that happened, well, who knew how the strange but beautiful foreigner would act?

Little did either Shinobu or Keitaro know, however, that they were not alone. A lone figure, shrouded by clothing and a broad straw hat—there, just next to that supporting beam! Or, perhaps not, but it had been there just a second ago, watching, waiting, with a sword on its side, as silent and vengeful and deadly as a phantom.

* * *

"_A-ano_, is Japan cold for you, Keitaro-san?"

"Surprisingly, not really, Shinobu-chan," Keitaro replied. "I'm not sure why. Islamabad's pretty hot, yeah… but I do spend a lot of time around, you know, northern Pakistan, DC, Swat… so, I'm okay. At least for now."

Rather than taking a bus, Keitaro and Shinobu had elected to take a walk through the city to get to the mountains. They'd still get to where the Invitational was held before noon, so it really didn't matter if they spent an extra half-hour or forty minutes in transit. After all, Keitaro would be spending a lot of his day in the big city, if he was accepted into Tokyo U—he had to get used to it.

There was a fair amount of people out and about that day, although most of them were old folks or housewives doing their shopping. Breadwinners and sub-adults, so to speak, were occupied with work, school, studying, or hanging out in places of more consequence than the residential parts of urban Japan.

It was then that Keitaro realized that he didn't really know what people his age did for fun, in Japan. He barely had the slightest idea—presumably, some of them got drunk and partied on the weekends (or, perhaps, weekdays as well, as was the case for Kitsune). Many others were probably bookworms 24/7—but there had to be one or two fairly normal young adults in Japan, right?

And then Keitaro realized—yes, in fact, there were at least two. He knew them both, personally, and he'd have to see them face to face pretty soon. Facebook was fine for chatting with people one knew through one's parent's work a few times a year, but Keitaro knew that social networking had nothing on real-life encounters. He made a mental note to himself—call Haitani and Shirai soon. Maybe they could head to Haruka's tea shop and catch up—after all, it had been a while since either of them had been in the same town as Keitaro.

"So, Shinobu-chan, uhm, what kind of… things… do you, you know, like to do in your free time?" Keitaro asked. "For example, you come home after school one day—you have no homework or chores—what do you do?"

The ravenhead seemed to think for a moment.

"_Ano_, I don't really know, Keitaro-san. I don't really… ever have that much free time."

"Not even on days off from school—aya!"

Keitaro had been lucky so far, but such streaks could only last for so long. Since coming into Japan, he'd "only" seen one girl naked and had his head smashed into another's, shall we say, ahm, that is, bust—but he'd not suffered a serious injury from his own clumsiness. He hadn't fallen down a flight of stairs, or walked into a shut door, or broken anything, and he should have done a simple geometric distribution analysis and realized that he was almost certain to do _something_ sometime soon.

Of course, Keitaro was no expert with Bernoulli trials. Especially not then, when his height decided to stab him in the back—he walked directly into a small, store-mounted sign that most people either passed under without ducking or paid enough attention to walk around. Keitaro, on the other hand, saw only darkness for a minute, and that caused him to panic, trip over his own feet, and then fall, directly onto Shinobu-chan.

He landed in a compromising position. Of course he landed in a compromising position—why would he just get off easy and—perhaps that wasn't the best choice of words. But of course he couldn't just fall on his face and lose a molar or something—no, he had to flail before toppling, taking Shinobu down with him and ending up with his hand on a place that was still developing on her body, as was the case for most thirteen-year-olds.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry, Shinobu-chan—accident, I swear! Here, let me help you up…"

Poor Shinobu, yes, but poor Keitaro as well. Something like that had never happened to him before, ever—oh, he'd run into things and fallen many times, but he'd never before really ended up in a bad situation with a girl. This was terrible—he felt dirty, and guilty, almost as if he ought not touch Shinobu again, even to help her pick herself up off the sidewalk.

And yet she was insisting that it was alright, with surprising will for a person so, well, mouse-like and weak. In a few seconds, she was on her feet again, dusting herself off, as Keitaro was—before he looked to the side, suddenly, swearing that he'd seen someone, or some_thing_, racing toward them both with a weapon at hand.

No, he'd been mistaken, it seemed. It must have been a bicyclist or something…

"I'm sorry, Shinobu-chan," Keitaro said again. Experimentally, he bowed halfway, and offered the young ravenhead a guilty grin. "I'm, uhm, very clumsy, when I'm not on my bike. Sorry," he repeated.

"_Iya_, it's alright, Keitaro-san. That it, it was just an accident, right? So, there's no n-need for me to get so excited—I mean…"

Well, at least Keitaro seemed to be entirely blind to that slip up. Either he had a mind that was innocent and pure (and what kind of guy did?) or he was just very good at hiding amusement. Or, as another possibility, he was still too busy apologizing and trying to get his ears to turn a less brilliant shade of pink to realize what Shinobu had said.

"Well," Keitaro said miserably, a few moments later, "at least now, I probably won't fall again… for some time, anyway. A few days, hopefully. Are you sure you're okay, Shinobu-chan?" he asked.

"_H-hai_, Keitaro-san," she replied, just a little forcefully. "Let's get going again… please don't worry about it, alright? I know it was an accident, Keitaro-san. So, let's just forget about it." She tried to smile at him, then—and actually succeeded, somewhat.

And that made Keitaro pause, do a double-take, and then smile back at her, before starting to walk again, this time very wary indeed of assault by airborne boards of wood. They continued the remainder of their walk to the outskirts of Yokohama, but the whole time, Keitaro couldn't help but think how very cute Shinobu looked when she smiled.

* * *

Now this was certainly different from anything Keitaro was used to. Japanese mountains, it seemed, were completely different from those he'd encountered in Washington state and Pakistan. They weren't as tall as the Himalayas, of course, nor where they as frigid and deadly, but there were also different from the coniferous, damp forests that covered the mountains in the Pacific northwest.

The ground was very rocky, Keitaro noticed. There wasn't more than a few inches of dirt underfoot, and that was interesting. It would be easy to change direction or speed up or slow down in short order, but it would be more difficult to land jumps properly. The grounds of Hinata Inn were more forgiving: these peaks were simply dangerous. Big, sharp chunks of rock jutted up from the ground without warning, here and there, and it was all too easy to imagine how difficult they'd be able to manage at high speed.

The air was surprisingly thick, though. Perhaps it was because they were still so close to a big city, but that was useful. Biking at high altitude was difficult, because thinner air brought less oxygen to the bloodstream. At least in the area where the Invitational would take place, Keitaro wouldn't have to worry about getting tired—he was extremely conditioned year round, after all, from his savage regimen, and provided he ate enough before the race, he'd finish it sweaty, tired, maybe even exhausted and on the verge of collapsing—but he'd finish. As long as he was careful.

By then, he and Shinobu had been exploring the mountains for about an hour. It was getting time to contemplate lunch, but Keitaro didn't realize that quite yet. He was too busy trying to get to know the area where the most consequential race of his life so far would take place in just a few short months, and it wasn't easy—partly because there was so much ground to cover, and partly because every so often, Keitaro would see little flits of motion, here and there, in the corners of his eye, and question if he and Shinobu were really as alone as they seemed.

It surprised him that they'd spent so long without seeing anyone else. Well, to be fair, a few old men had passed them by, distantly, but that was all. There were no (other) happy young couples, no students just looking for a break from the strife and chaos of campus life, and that was odd. The city seemed to end immediately in deference to the mountains, yet almost no one seemed to want to take advantage of that fact.

Shinobu definitely didn't seem like she'd been out of the city much. Although, she was more excusable. Hinata Springs was very suburban, and besides, there was plenty of space to just walk around, explore, be alone and reflect on its grounds. More urban Japanese, however, seemed to simply not take pleasure in being in the wilderness—why, Keitaro couldn't fathom.

"Wow…" Shinobu said, from some fifty meters away from Keitaro, "this is really dangerous, Keitaro-san… for biking, I mean. What if you fall somewhere here?"

He had trouble seeing her, for a moment, until he realized that she was standing on a group of large, moss-covered boulders not far away. Those were particularly sharp and angled as if to threaten anyone who approached from any angle.

"Here… I'd probably break a bone," Keitaro said, "even with my gear. But don't worry, Shinobu-chan—I know what I'm doing. Hey, that doesn't look safe… I don't think you should be climbing there, Shinobu-chan. It doesn't look safe."

Keitaro was walking forward rapidly before he realized it. And then, when he realized it, he realized that he wasn't going quite fast enough. True, Shinobu had gotten to where she was safely, but now she was precariously on the edge of the boulders, and a single misstep could send her on a nasty fall. And he was still forty feet away, too far to catch her if she fell—

And then she tried to turn around, to get back to the path. One patch of moss gave way, however, and her foot slipped—and then, she began to plunge toward several broken bones, or worse.

Keitaro yelled, but it was useless—he was far too far away to help, although he was now running as fast as he could. Shinobu seemed to fall in slow motion, trying to twist around in midair to take at least some of the impact to her arms, or legs, or something, but she had no chance—

And then there was motion. Another aerial object flew rapidly into the scene. Its path intersected Shinobu's—and a moment later, it landed, gracefully on one foot, with the young ravenhead safely in its arms. A second later, the baggy white cloth it wore came to rest as well, and then, Keitaro was finally in a position to have helped.

"_Masha'Allah_, thank you, sir," Keitaro said. He was breathing hard—not out of exertion, but from panicking. He saw that his young companion was alright, but even then, Shinobu seemed to be quivering as she felt herself, all over—_all_ over—to make sure that she was still in one piece. "It's a good thing you were here, otherwise—Aoyama-san?"

Shinobu's savior had turned to face Keitaro, partially, and there was no mistaking that long veil of inky hair and those hawkish, somewhat dangerous eyes. Immediately, Keitaro was intimidated, but he hid it, stood up straight, and watched as the martial artist carefully set Shinobu down on her own two feet again.

"What are you doing here?" Keitaro asked, suspiciously, and perhaps that was uncalled for. After all, Motoko had just saved Shinobu's—life.

And yet, there was some sense in Keitaro's question. Motoko, like everyone else in Hinata Inn, had known that Shinobu and Keitaro were going together to Yokohama—and why shouldn't they? After all, Keitaro didn't have anything to hide. But why would Motoko come to the same general area without telling them out of simple courtesy?

Keitaro could rationalize his question _post hoc_ by thinking all of these things, or perhaps even voicing them, but the fact was that he had reflexively questioned Motoko—he simply did not trust her after what she'd almost taken from him the night before.

And yet, for the briefest sliver of a second, Motoko seemed jarred. Then, of course, hostility and a baleful glare rose in her again as she turned to face Keitaro fully. For that reason, he didn't notice the slightest pause between when she opened her mouth to speak, and when she actually began to do so.

"My inner _ki_ guided me here, and so I came," Motoko said simply. "I didn't know what I would find or who. It's no surprise to me that it was you, kanrinin-san." Her eyes tightened even further, then, and as she set Shinobu down, her sword hand remained precariously in midair, ready to dive toward its weapon. "You bring violence and danger to every place you visit."

"N-no, that's not it, Motoko-sempai," Shinobu interjected. She was shaky and generally, she would not have been able to speak in such a state, but seeing Keitaro flinch under the kendo-girl's harsh gaze made her overcome her natural timidity.

"I was b-being irresponsible… I climbed up there by myself, and Keitaro-san was telling me to come down, but it was too late… _arigato_," she said finally. "I don't know what would have happened without you."

Looking at Shinobu made Motoko's expression soften—but not by much. And yet, there was no way that Shinobu was lying… So that meant that, again, she was jumping to conclusions were Keitaro was concerned.

As if she was going to let him know that.

"Hmm. Well, in the future, kanrinin-san, be more responsible. When you go around with someone weaker than you, they become your responsibility."

Damn. He was nodding to that—why did he have to be so cloyingly difficult to hate? Why couldn't he just let his natural, male, perverse nature out when she could see it, and summarily separate his head from his body?

"You're right, Aoyama-san—I should have kept Shinobu-chan closer. I guess I'll do better next time—_shukria_, I mean, _arigato_ again. That was dangerous…"

Now that passions had cooled, the three teenagers were stuck feeling somewhat awkward. Shinobu had stopped shaking, mostly, though she remained closer to Motoko's side than she otherwise may have been, and Keitaro had suddenly found his thumbs incredibly interesting—hey, they were interesting thumbs, after all, what wasn't to like about them?

"Oh, Aoyama-san, since you're here—why don't the three of us keep exploring, together? That way, Shinobu will have two pairs of eyes on her—and I'll have one as well, heheh." That final phrase was spoken meekly, but its implication was probably objectively correct. Keitaro was lucky that something shiny hadn't caught his eye, and then something upturned hadn't caught his foot, sending him head over heels down the mountainside—he could use someone less weak than he was standing by to save his—life—if the need arose.

And it can't be said that Motoko's ego couldn't use boosting any time of any day. Indeed, she leaned back visibly when Keitaro said that—he was a man, after all, a creature of sinful pride and arrogance! What was he doing admitting his weakness in public?

Then again, the samurai-femme considered, he might just be a, what was the politically correct term… a "herbivore". A feminine guy, unafraid of admitting how utterly pathetic he was. A coward and a seeker of the path of least resistance, through and through.

Of course, the idea that Keitaro was just kidding (well, mostly—or at least partially—maybe just a teensy bit) didn't cross her mind. And of course she didn't realize that Keitaro was a big guy, and that he'd certainly asserted himself to her the night before. Motoko's mind did not easily see shades of gray, apparently, and that was as much a strength as it was a weakness. She wasn't aware that Obi Wan was correct—only Sith deal in absolutes.

"Well… it would be… safer, at least," Motoko said. "And… I am bound by my warrior's creed to offer help to those in need…"

"And when we're finished, we'll all go somewhere nice to eat together," Keitaro finished for her. "Haruka-oba—Haruka-_san_ told me about a nice Korean place not far from here. Just give me a few more hours… I think I almost have the hang of this place."

* * *

Motoko had to admit—Keitaro's personality was very compatible with hers. With anyone's, really. He knew when he be quiet, knew when conversation was interesting, and he was either contemplative, thoughtful, or reasonably upbeat and optimistic. Being around him made her realize how much she tended to brood and walk around with her eyes shut to the world around her—and while true samurai were supposed to be more than a few inches deep, it couldn't be wise to sacrifice real-world observation 24/7.

After all, this restaurant's _kaibi_ was supposed to be off the chizz-ain.

True to his word, Keitaro had taken both Shinobu and Motoko to a place that Haruka-san had suggested to him when he'd called her to let her know where he and Shinobu would be for most of the day. It was—well, to be honest, a pretty seedy-looking place in a pretty seedy-looking neighborhood, and Motoko felt certain that if she didn't wear her sword openly, one or two or several of the seedy-looking men that slouched around the streets with their hands in their pockets would have made advances to her and Shinobu.

No matter that Keitaro was around, of course. No matter that he was pretty tall, young, very fit looking as well, and, as Kitsune would have snidely added, probably armed with several IEDs and Kalashnikovs at any given moment. Motoko simply could not view him as a potential threat in combat, because she'd already mopped the floor with him in her mind.

She couldn't be particularly impolite or condescending to him, however. At least, not right then, when she was eating and he was paying for it.

In contrast with its somewhat run-down appearance from the outside, the Korean place was actually pretty nice from the inside. Its décor was not modern at all, and that appealed to Motoko, and there wasn't too much business that day—plus, when Keitaro had mentioned that he was Urashima Haruka's nephew, they'd been whisked off to a balcony seat on the second floor, no further questions asked, and served with barley tea and appetizers almost immediately.

It was a pretty nice day outside, although somewhat on the cold side. However, Motoko was a trained warrior—marginally inclement weather did not upset her, and Shinobu was dressed for the occasion. Keitaro, on the other hand, was not, and therefore he should have been shivering.

But he didn't. He sat there in essential comfort, talking to Shinobu and sampling the several small dishes they'd been served. Now and again, he'd try to include Motoko in the conversation, but he failed, largely due to her own sullen nature, so, in time, he gave up and simply had a few snacks, here and there, and generally had a good time without the samurai-girl.

Actually, he didn't seem like an entirely bad guy when he was just doing that, hanging out and chatting. It wasn't that he was good looking or anything, or of any particular interest to Motoko in other ways (he was a guy, after all), but she did feel just a little guilty for ignoring him so thoroughly. It was just social convention to be somewhat polite to the person taking you out for lunch. And so Motoko began to tune into the conversation currently going on.

"…and you know, Shinobu-chan, I'm a pretty big guy. Especially in Pakistan—so I don't have to go that hard or fast to make them feel it. I just have to sort of be there, where it matters, and everything just kind of falls into place. You should hear them scream—"

"What…" Motoko said dangerously, "are you doing… talking to a _junior high_ student about these things?" Her hand was on her blade, but she considered other options. The restaurant was a nice one, after all, and she'd prefer that it survive the holy fire of her cleansing—maybe she could just grab Keitaro by his lapel and toss him to the ground, screaming "This is Sparta!" in the process. That might work.

But Keitaro just seemed confused. "What's so inappropriate about basketball, Aoyama-san? I was just saying, that's something I used to do, before I just focused on biking. Is that bad?"

Motoko had to wince, just a little. Basketball, of course it was basketball—that was a great excuse, but Motoko couldn't execute him now. He wasn't objectively guilty of anything—but he always would be in her mind. And so, after shooting a glance at Shinobu to ensure that she couldn't at least justify interrogating the son-of-a-gun, she lifted a cup of tea to her mouth in a play for time and then answered, as serenely and calmly as she ever did.

"Shinobu-chan has to focus on her studies right now. It's not a good idea to distract her with these… impractical obsessions."

Keitaro blinked, and then looked curiously at Motoko. "It's not a good idea to talk about Impractical obsessions…" says the girl in the kendo outfit 24/7?

He decided to let it go. He simply shrugged at the samurai-girl, dismissively, and went back to ignoring her and talking strictly with Shinobu.

It was odd. Several years separated them, and who knew how much (or how little) maturity, but Keitaro found that Shinobu could actually be reasonable company. When she didn't stutter and blush too much, she was actually kind of interesting.

Motoko took another sip of tea. A vein in her forehead throbbed as she set it down—she realized that it had been several moments since Keitaro had last looked her way, much less attempted to say a word to her, and for some reason, that upset her. While she'd never admit in a thousand years to being even susceptible to being jealous of a guy's attention, well, facts were facts no matter how inconvenient they were.

She didn't know why she was upset. She didn't even accept that she was accept—she was offended, and righteously so, because Keitaro was being rude by ignoring her. Forget that she'd almost lopped his head off, and forget that she'd erroneously accused him, twice—he had no right to treat her like that.

And so she pointed it out.

"When one is with company," Motoko said, interrupting some sort of idiotic diatribe on Keitaro's part, "one engages _all_ parties present. To fail to do so is highly… uncouth."

She ended up glaring at Keitaro, but this time, the fair-haired lad either winced nor let it go. If Motoko wanted to be arrogant and generally a negative presence, that was fine, but when she made life miserable for him and Shinobu, then he did have to react in some way.

"It's also uncouth," Keitaro said slowly, "to try to kill people for accidents… that they didn't even make. It's also illegal," he pointed out.

He didn't glare at Motoko, exactly, but it was pretty clear that he wasn't her biggest fan around then. He wasn't sure what course of action he wanted to take with her just yet—a phone call to the cops was still on the table for sure, but for now, it wasn't obviously the best thing to do. So, he let his legal threat sink in, for a moment, before speaking again—this time, appeasing the samurai girl.

"So, Aoyama-san… what did you want to talk about?" Keitaro thought about saying that in the extremely polite—or in this case, sarcastic—_de gozaru_ form. He decided not to, though. Why press Motoko's buttons? She was plenty hot-headed without additional prodding, after all.

But his question seemed to have stymied her. She stared at him, blinked, and then seemed to think as fast as possible, but she couldn't—nothing came to mind. What _did_ she want to talk about? She never conversed with anyone unless it was about some obvious topic of conversation with a clear-cut purpose—she'd never really chatted with anyone, ever. But—ah, there we go. Motoko had something to talk about. She wasn't totally socially inept.

"Have either of you looked at Ahoikara's new line of uniforms? I haven't touched one personally yet… but I am considering ordering a few. They're very traditional, but the material quality is supposed to be very, very good…"

That was actually a _phenomenally_ dull topic of conversation, particularly given current company. Neither Keitaro nor Shinobu had ever heard of Ahoikara before, and neither of them were remotely interested in kendo outfits. Neither of them were particularly interested in kendo, either—but things weren't unsalvageable. Just very nearly so.

"So—no, that's interesting," Keitaro said, mostly to convince himself. "Uhm, martial arts uniforms… …there's a difference between them?"

"Certainly, kanrinin-san," Motoko replied coolly. "There are different styles for different schools of martial arts, and then there are different colors, sizes…"

"I mean—for a given size, color, and school of martial arts," Keitaro said, almost exasperatedly, "there's a—a significant difference between different uniforms?"

The kendo warrior thought, briefly, before answering.

"Perhaps not. Wearing the best uniform on the market won't transform _you_ into a good fighter," she said. And the emphasis on the word "you" was intentional—she was talking directly to Keitaro, not just making a general case, but he didn't catch it. He just nodded, as if in agreement, and that surprised her.

"It reminds me—there's a video on the internet," Keitaro said, "of this guy who's interested in biking. He gets an expensive machine and all kinds of gear, and he goes out riding in his town, just to get a feel for things. Now, his feet are clipped in to the pedals—keep that in mind. He needs to stop at a red light, and he does, but he doesn't know how to unclip."

Keitaro then used his hand to mimic the desperate motions of a stopped bike-riding trying to stay balanced without putting a foot on the ground. Obviously, the unlucky fellow in the video had been unsuccessful.

The analogy made Shinobu giggle, just a little, and for a moment Keitaro was actually sure that he'd made even Motoko smile—wait, no, perhaps not; maybe it was just a trick of the light. Ah, well. At least she wasn't offended by his comment.

"So, I guess you're… very interested in martial arts, Aoyama-san. How did you become interested?"

Yikes. Maybe he'd said just a little too much—but one can't blame Keitaro. He'd said a full sentence or two, he'd even made a joke around Motoko without getting a sword to his throat, and, so, he'd believed for a moment that he had her at least somewhat figured out. He was apparently wrong, because at that seemingly innocent question, Motoko had glared him with such intensity that he winced and leaned back a little bit, before shaking his head, sighing, and then speaking to the samurai-girl in a low, humorless, and somewhat annoyed tone.

"I'm sorry for asking, Aoyama-san. Why don't you ask the questions, now, and I'll answer them?" _"And if that's not good enough, then you can get lost,"_ he wanted to say—but he didn't, mostly because he didn't want to cause a scene. He stared at Motoko—without glaring—and eventually, the ravenhead calmed down and nodded.

"All right, kanrinin-san, we'll do it your way."

She seemed to gather her wits, for a moment, and that made Keitaro want to groan—this wasn't some sort of game. He didn't want to verbally spar with Motoko, even though she seriously deserved cutting down to size. He reminded himself that he didn't need to mess around with her—if she annoyed or offended him, sufficiently, he'd boot her out and that would be that. After all, he was a big guy, and with power like his, he was sure to be able to make even Motoko scream in pain.

"How did you become interested in biking?"

Keitaro blinked at that question. Then, after thinking for a moment, he answered with almost a loving caress in his voice.

"I actually don't really remember. I think it started when I was very young… maybe three or four years old. I lived in Japan at the time," he explained, "because my dad hadn't gotten shifted to Islamabad until a year later. Anyway, I think there was…someone…" He looked quite intense, now, as he struggled to reach back through a jumble of people and places and years.

"I think someone I used to know said that… I looked very confident on a bike, or something. And that… if I practiced, my bike could take me anywhere. Even… Tokyo University."

He concentrated for another moment, and then looked up. There was a wry, somewhat embarrassed smile on his lips.

"Sorry for being so… I don't know the Japanese word for it. Wide-eyed, naïve, stupid… you know what I mean. It's such a silly story, isn't it?"

"N-no, Keitaro-san," Shinobu said. He looked at her, and for once, she was able to speak again without hesitating or pausing for any noticeable length of time. "It's important to follow your dreams. And whoever said that to you was right. Y-your biking has already taken you so far, and if you win the Yokohama Open and get into Todai because of your biking…"

Keitaro looked at Shinobu for a moment. He was thinking, apparently, and although the temptation for the little ravenhead to simply "eep" and then hide behind Motoko was strong, she managed to hold her position, and without fainting as well. She was therefore able to enjoy the smile Keitaro gave her, then, as well as the words he said next.

"_Shukria_, Shinobu-chan," he said. "You're right. And even if things don't go well at the big YI, biking has done so much good for me. Not to sound like an old man, Shinobu-chan, but idle hands are _Shaitan_'s playthings."

It was, at times, hard to believe that Keitaro was eighteen. Maybe it was just because apart from his biking, he was actually a pretty boring guy, but he did seem very wise, and stable—not like most people his age at all. Then again, when his peers were going out to smoke or party or go across the border to India to drink, he was with people like him, studying or keeping fit or just going around together. True, he'd done his share of somewhat irresponsible things—like his little stint in Waziristan—but at the end of the day, he was a strikingly moral and self-disciplined lad.

Motoko seemed to realize this—or at least accept that it might be possible—for the first time. And that surprised her, because no matter what, Keitaro was a guy, and a big guy at that. Masculinity of that magnitude carried with it two particular spheres of traits that she found unattractive: in her opinion, men were both short-sighted and stupid. They didn't know what they wanted in life, and they didn't know that they didn't know that.

Maybe Keitaro was just a weirdo. Just an outlier. Maybe he didn't technically count as a man—yes, that seemed like a good explanation. After all, Motoko's opinion of the other gender was accurate 99.5% of the time—why should she change her entire worldview because of one half-and-half biker?

Then again, she allowed, maybe she had been… _slightly_ harsh on him. While she still had her doubts about his explanation of how he'd gotten into the hot spring, she found it somewhat difficult to believe now that he was nothing more than a pervert. And, who knew—maybe he actually might be a responsible resident manager, if given the chance. After all, YI and Todai men weren't like the rest of men, were they?

"Any more questions, Aoyama-san?"

She blinked, and then focused her eyes on him again. He flinched—just a little—and that natural submission to her power convinced her that yes, Keitaro probably didn't count as a man in actuality. And that was good—for his safety.

"You don't need to be that formal with me, kanrinin-san. Please call me by my name directly."

"Oh, arigato, Motoko—"

"My surname only, please."

He definitely winced at the warning undertone to her voice, but nodded. It was perfectly reasonable for her to demand that—after all, they weren't exactly friends.

"So sorry… Aoyama. Ah—you can call me Keitaro, if you want. Or just 'Kei'. I don't really mind."

"No thank you, Urashima-san," Motoko replied smoothly. "We only share a business relationship, so it would be inappropriate to refer to you by your given name."

"But Urashima-san is my _dad_," Keitaro protested—paused, waited for a laugh—then gave up. "But seriously—please don't refer to me like that. I won't realize that you're talking to me. Everyone just calls me Keitaro, or Kei—it's not a big deal, Aoyama-sa—Aoyama. I really don't mind at all."

He grinned, then, and took a sip of tea. Then he glanced at his cell phone to check the time—surprisingly, they'd only waited for ten minutes. It had seemed like a lot longer than that…

When he looked up, he almost flinched again. Motoko was staring at him, intensely, serious-faced. Had he upset her again? If so, then he was in deep trouble. His bike was miles away, and even if he managed to dive out of the way of a first strike, he'd either fall a floor to the ground or have to escape through a restaurant in order to avoid getting killed. All the while, he'd have to try not to trip, or snag his clothes on something or something else. He'd have to be quick, but careful, and _extremely_ lucky, and—

"I must refuse your request, Urashima Keitaro," Motoko said, her voice ice cold and dangerous. "It would be highly inappropriate of me to refer to an elder by his first name. However… if you… truly want, then… you may call me by my given name."

Now that was something that neither Shinobu nor Keitaro had expected. Both of them were so shocked that they didn't notice the slight pink tinge that appeared on the kendo girl's cheeks for a moment—and if they had, they would have written it off as a trick of the light, or this, or that, or the other. But a moment later, Keitaro smiled widely and leaned forward in his seat.

"That's very nice of you… Motoko… chan?" He added the friendly (and somewhat diminutive) suffix tentatively, prepared to duck, dodge, or dive as necessary to avoid a vicious attack—but none came. Motoko simply turned her head to the side, feigning indifference or perhaps slight irritation, but Keitaro saw through it. It seemed that Motoko wasn't a nasty person—she was just like ogres, or onions, or cakes, or parfaits (which, of course, are the nicest thing on the whole damn planet).

So, Keitaro smiled. He would have said something else, but just then, their food arrived. And as Haruka-obasan—Haruka-_san_ had promised, it was top notch. The three Hinata Inn residents then spent the better part of an hour eating and simply enjoying one another's company. Although most of the conversation that happened was strictly between Shinobu and Keitaro, Motoko was no longer an unpleasant, negative b—_w_itch. Now, she was as a samurai was trained to be: serene, powerful, and a comforting presence to be around.

* * *

The train back to central Tokyo was significantly late. Significantly—this train's lateness was in the 95th percentile. Shinobu and Motoko were shocked by the misfortune, and the latter had her hand halfway toward her sword and her senses on edge in preparation to detect some sort of Gremlin spirit.

Keitaro, on the other hand, didn't notice the train's lateness. In fact, he was the first one in the crowd to waltz into a car, innocently, naively, like the strange foreigner that he was. Once he entered, however, without bursting into flame or turning into some sort of disgusting animal, however, the native Japanese followed, muttering this and that about his bravery and stupidity.

"What's the big deal?" Keitaro said. "It's only three minutes. In Pakistan, trains and things are late all the time—actually, most buses don't even have schedules. They just show up when they show up—did I just say something inappropriate? I'm sorry."

"N-no, Keitaro-san," Shinobu said. "It's not that you said a foul word, but… _honto_? They don't even have schedules?"

Keitaro shook his head. "If you want to ride one, all you have to do is go and wait there and it'll be along sooner or later. I guess people in Pakistan don't care about punctuality as much as they do here."

"It's true," Motoko said, but she wasn't interjecting. She was a participant in the interaction—just not a particularly active one. "The Japanese are a very punctual people. It's considered very rude to be late for anything, even if it's just by a second."

Keitaro winced at that. "Really? That's not good for me. I guess I'll try to show up to things early—"

"Unfortunately, Urashima, being too early is rude as well."

Great. Things never were easy, were they? Even Keitaro's very exclusive and very expensive private school in Islamabad wasn't _that_ terrible about punctuality. Showing up a few minutes late to a class was never a big deal, mainly because the teacher was probably still a fair amount of time away.

It would be a challenge to get used to the Japanese way of doing things, but Keitaro was not overwhelmed. After all, he _was_ Japanese, and the national culture was in his soul. His father was Japanese born and raised, as were all of his father's relatives, and he'd lived in Japan himself—just, well, before was able to actually remember much of it. One way or the other, he'd figure things out. He just hoped he'd get used to Japan sooner, rather than later.

Keitaro texted his "aunt" to let her know that he, Motoko, and Shinobu would be back in a few minutes, and thanked her for her advice, saying that the three of them had had a great time there. After that, he looked at the kendo girl, curiously, and then asked her if she had a cell phone.

"Of course I do," she replied, almost incredulously. "Just because I'm a warrior doesn't make me Amish, Urashima. I am bound by my creed to be disciplined in every way, but that does not prevent me from using what tools are available to me. In fact, it requires that I use the _best_ tools available to me."

She reached to the back of her uniform, then, and showed Keitaro her slim mobile for a moment before tucking it away again. Keitaro nodded at the display just a bit dumbly. If Motoko was required to use the best tools available to her… then why on _Earth_ did she not use a gun?

His face must have shown the question in his mind, because Motoko simply smirked and shook her head.

"Many reasons, Urashima Keitaro. And you, of all people, should be glad that I don't use clumsy, random projectile weapons…"

That was a strange statement, and for a moment, Keitaro struggled to understand it. Then he realized that Motoko was talking about their affair—err, the situation between them the night before. He looked at her closely and replayed her words in his mind—and he realized that yes, there had been the slightest undertone of remorse in her voice.

Was this her way of apologizing? If so, it was a pretty pathetic apology indeed, but Keitaro knew that he wasn't likely to get anything more. So, he simply made eye contact with Motoko and nodded slowly, to show that he understood what she was doing.

The train stopped, then, and Keitaro had not been prepared for it. And, so, as if to put a period to the encounter, he fell forward, screaming, and ended up with his face buried directly in… something it ought not to have been buried in.

* * *

Keitaro wasn't hurting physically by the time their journey on public transit had ended. He felt pretty guilty, though, and this time he couldn't blame Motoko for attacking him.

She hadn't even seemed to move before drawing her sword and unleashing a burst of compressed _ki_ energy that made Keitaro bounce around in the train car like a pinball. Only when the train's doors had opened had he escaped. In fact, his motion hadn't exactly followed Newtonian mechanics, and if he was more altruistic he would have allowed physicists to study how, when exposed to extreme amounts of _ki_, the human body could end up acting like an particle and following the laws of quantum mechanics instead.

But Keitaro loved life. He also found the idea of getting along with his tenants—at least to some degree—highly desirable indeed. That's why, whenever Motoko's anger seemed to cede, he'd quietly apologize and then prepare to dodge a follow up attack that might knock him down every one of the stairs he'd just climbed up.

At least he'd gotten home okay. The day could have ended so much worse—and so, once he'd gotten through the door, said thanks to Shinobu and started to make his way to his room, Keitaro no longer felt guilty. He felt a strange sense of satisfaction. He'd accomplished his objectives for the day, but more than that, he simply felt like he belonged. It was true that he'd been the justified target of anti-Keitaro violence, but that didn't matter. He simply felt like Hinata Inn was where he belonged, and that his place there was not to change anything, or force anything on anyone—he was just supposed to make sure that everyone was okay, and to take care of them as necessary until they were.

It was inexplicable. Perhaps it was because he'd now spent time with all but two of the inn-turned-dorm's residents, but Keitaro didn't really feel like an outsider anymore. He felt, for the first time since he'd entered Japan, that he was at home.

* * *

The minute he was within seeing distance of Hinata Inn, Narusegawa Naru knew it. She'd been watching for him—not obsessively, and she had gotten plenty of studying done while waiting at the window—but nonetheless, her entire afternoon had been spent on the lookout for the only male ever to enter Hinata Inn and live. When that face had appeared approaching the inn from the town, Naru had taken out a pair of binoculars she'd borrowed from Su and scoped things out, making a note of all relevant details in the back of her notebook.

So. Shinobu probably did like Keitaro… that was too bad for her. And Keitaro seemed to have offended not her, but Motoko—but what had Motoko been doing that day? How had she come into contact with the _gaijan_?

Naru had too many questions and she was unlikely to get many answers without blowing her cover. Motoko, it seemed, tolerated Keitaro—at least to some degree, or else she would have gone out of her way not to be even in his vicinity. And that truly wasn't good, unless Motoko was simply hanging around him to make sure that he didn't take advantage of Shinobu.

Maybe that was the explanation.

Regardless, Naru needed a lot more information about Urashima Keitaro to get him out of Hinata Inn, Hinata Springs, Kanagawa, and eventually all of Japan. She needed information—no, more than that, she needed first hand information. Watching from a distance wasn't going to do her much good, because Keitaro was a closet pervert, not an open pervert. She needed to be as sneaky and subtle as he was in order to start to gather evidence against him.

With that in mind, Naru glanced at the cover of her notebook. She hadn't purchased it—it had come free to her, compliments of the cram school she'd signed up for. It was a good school, and fairly exclusive… but she'd see Keitaro enter it. She'd see him enter it, that way she'd have plenty of time to observe him from when they left to study to the time they came back home.

It might take Naru a while to see Keitaro booted out. It might take her a long while. And starting the next day, she had her work cut out for her, but that was alright. She cracked her knuckles, wrote down a few final statements in her book, and then shut it and took a deep breath for the first time since Keitaro had left. She was becoming obsessed with her goal, she realized, but that was alright. Just as Keitaro was fixated on Tokyo U and biking, she was fixated on seeing him thrown out, perhaps physically, into the street. If he achieved his goals, he'd be the happiest man alive, and if she achieved hers, well, then it was just time to move on…

(It is now time for Khan to move on. Anyway, I accomplished my goal—I wrote this chapter within a month. Yay me.

I don't know when the next one will be up, although I hope it won't take too long—but I can't make any promises, because right now, writing this LH fic is not so high on my list of things to do.

Remember, five decent reviews are needed to go on. So, until next chapter… да свидания.)


	4. Chapter 4

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Four

* * *

(Sorry for the long delay, lads and lasses. I'll try to do better in the future, but no promises.)

* * *

Several days had passed since Keitaro had arrived in Hinata Springs and shattered the delicate balance of personal relationships that had existed in Hinata Inn. But already, he was starting to feel like less and less of a stranger. Although he didn't feel Japanese at all—it often took him a few seconds to read particularly complicated kanji characters—he felt, at least to a degree, that he belonged at Hinata Inn. Shinobu was always very nice to him, after all, and Kitsune was always ready to crack a joke or offer to show him where this was or how to do that.

Motoko had become bearable and somewhat less quick to fists (or blades), and Keitaro was even starting to tolerate Suu's insanity. In a way, he'd found his place in Hinata Inn—provided that he stayed out of the way, kept his clumsiness in check, and did his duties, he was tolerated. He couldn't say with any honesty that he was close with any of the girls, but so what? They got along; he tolerated their eccentricities and they tolerated his, and so Keitaro felt no need to break equilibrium again.

The one thing that had him worried was Naru—and her treatment to him.

It wasn't that she'd ever struck him or even raised a hand at him, but something about her just didn't agree with Keitaro. He didn't need to look at her for more than a few moments to feel an uncomfortable chill run up and down his spine, and he somehow felt that she was always watching him, always observing him, always looking for some flaw to exploit.

Maybe he was just paranoid, but he doubted it. Keitaro was quite sure that if Naru wasn't playing some sort of game, she was going to do something to him—but he simply didn't know what it was. And it worried him.

At least there was one place where something bad was unlikely to happen. Supposing that Naru was going to make an attempt on his life, she'd never dare to do it in front of Haruka. Keitaro, of course, had had plenty of experience with firearms from James Bond-style pen guns up to and including heavy machineguns—but even the crazier things he'd fired in the wild northwest of Pakistan couldn't compare to the gear Haruka kept in her tea shop's "storage room".

And so Keitaro was in what had become his most regular haunt—his cousin's tea shop. It was a nice place to study as the patrons were usually quiet and tolerant, and besides, Keitaro didn't have to do much to get tea—Haruka gave him as much as he wanted provided that he helped her clean up now and then. Just then, he was contemplating how well Dragon Green went with the topic of advanced differential equations—no, he was contemplating the equations _themselves_, he reminded himself—before simply leaning back in his chair and sighing.

He simply wasn't used to studying alone. Back at home, whenever it was time to hit the books, Keitaro always did it with a friend or two. Even if not a word passed between him and his companion(s), it didn't matter—it was somehow necessary. On his own, Keitaro could barely accomplish 80% of his goals, and even then, that was only if he really pushed himself.

"And people always say that your late-teens and early twenties are when you're supposed to enjoy life," Keitaro grumbled to himself. He didn't care that a few people—his aunt included—might overhear him, because he was speaking in Urdu just then. "Well, I'm not a masochist, and studying all day without breaks is miserable. If I didn't have the Inn's grounds to bike in, I'd have lost my mind hours ago…"

The bells attached to the tea shop's door jingled, then, but no one seemed to be leaving. And so Keitaro looked up—and almost immediately, his mood went from bad to worse. Except, now he wasn't wallowing in frustration and self-pity—now, he was concerned.

Narusegawa Naru had just walked into the tea shop, and the moment she saw Keitaro, she waved. Of course, Keitaro pretended not to see her—he delved back into his books and started to frantically search the pages; if he just ignored her then maybe she'd go away—

"Hello…"

Damn. She'd walked right up to him. And so, hiding a grimace, Keitaro looked up—blinked for effect, as if he was surprised to see her, and flashed her a smile.

"Oh, hello, Narusegawa," Keitaro said. "I didn't, uhm, see you… so, what's—what's going on?" he stammered. She was sitting down at his table, and every instinct was screaming at Keitaro to stand up and back away slowly without making any quick or ambiguous moves.

But her actions were perfectly normal. In fact, they were so normal that they were almost scripted, as if Naru had planned precisely how she would place her bag on the table, then unzip it, then reach inside and withdraw a notebook, then give her antennae a stroke before looking back at Keitaro.

"Kitsune said that you liked to study here… so, I thought I'd join you. You don't mind, do you?"

"Oh, no, not at all," Keitaro said without thinking—and then, after he had a second to think about it, he realized that there really wasn't a way to politely decline Naru's offer. After all, to all appearances, she was perfectly decent to him. And he still hadn't quite forgiven himself for what had happened between them…

And so, somewhat mollified, Kei moved his own books aside and looked to see what Naru was studying. Her poison of choice seemed to be American history—an interesting subject, but exhaustively difficult to master. She apparently saw him looking at what she was studying and laughed just slightly too shrilly and rapidly for Keitaro to think that it was natural.

"I'm doing the Civil War right now. Americans are crazy—oh, uhm, I mean…" She cleared her throat, blushing furiously. The whole time through, Keitaro simply stared at her the way he felt that she stared at him when he wasn't looking—he was analyzing her, trying to figure out what she was up to. And, just for a second, he swore he saw her frown—at herself?

"So… what have you been doing, Kei-kun?" Naru asked, looking at him carefully.

Instinct told Keitaro that there was something absolutely malicious about what was going on, so he looked away and began to flip through his pages. "Uhm, well, I just finished studying iterated integrals, so I was thinking of moving on to chemistry."

Keitaro was usually talkative by nature, so it took conscious effort for him to shut up after that. He cleared his throat and then settled on one page in particular, quite consciously paying close attention to Naru to see what she'd do next.

And it seemed to take her several moments to look away from him, and down to her own books. For a moment, that made Keitaro hope that their conversation was over—but almost immediately, Naru was speaking again.

"I meant… how have you been doing these past few days? I haven't seen much of you."

Inwardly, Keitaro winced. "Oh, I mean, I've been busy… with biking, and studying… chores... I just got these books two days ago," he explain, glancing up and then indicating to the pile of papers in front of him. "I've never used Japanese textbooks before, and these are intense. It's not easy to keep up."

"Japanese testing is a lot different," Naru agreed. Keitaro had looked away again, but that didn't stop her. "It's national, and there's only one way to interpret the scores. Extracurricular activities and things don't really matter—it's all about grades, grades, grades, and more grades. That's why everyone here gets tutors or goes to cram school. Or both."

Keitaro didn't answer to that. Not immediately, anyway. It seemed very much to him that Naru was analyzing his words very carefully indeed, and so he returned the favor—he wanted to find out what she was up to, but there were far too many unknowns. So, maybe, it was just best to be himself and hope for the best. After all, he knew that he was a decent-enough person—right?

With that in mind, he looked up from what he was doing. "I'd heard about that," he said. "Actually, I was just starting to think about what cram school to go to. I have a good budget, so price shouldn't be a problem. Do you know...?"

His question trailed off, because Naru was already nodding rapidly. In fact, from the moment he'd started down that line of speech, she'd been practically on the edge of her chair, as if in great anticipation. That didn't make much sense to him, and again Keitaro got a very bad feeling about Naru indeed, but he ignored it. All he could do was to be honest and hope for the best.

"Mine is actually very good," Naru said enthusiastically. "It's just one bus away, and the teachers all have university experience. One's even from Todai itself—"

"Really?" Keitaro said. "What's he—or she—like?"

"Actually, he's from your country," Naru said. "Pakistan, I mean. He's called Professor Nawaz, and he teaches math. He's a… little strange, but a good guy, and _very_ smart. I guess everyone that teaches at Todai has to be…"

"Yeah…" Keitaro said, awed. For a moment, he indulged in the fantasy of meeting the other Pakistani, hitting it off instantly, and gaining a friend, mentor, and someone that could sneak him into Todai even if his grades weren't spectacular.

Then, he shook his head, and forced himself to accept the near-certainty that he'd have to get into Todai at his own expense. But still, it couldn't hurt to meet someone from Todai, and enjoy the rare pleasure of seeing another South Asian in Japan. So, Keitaro decided that he'd attend Naru's cram school then and there—at least for some time. If things didn't work out, of course he could quit and go to another school.

"When do classes start?" Keitaro asked. "Can I just join up, or do I have to submit an application or something?"

"There is an application," Naru admitted, "but you seem pretty smart, Kei-kun. Just fill it out and you can hand it in tonight. We'll head there at about… six thirty, just after dinner. Alright?"

Now, Keitaro couldn't ignore his suspicion. It was almost impossible to say why Naru wanted him to attend her cram school in particular, but there was no denying that that was what she wanted. But why? And what was her end goal, supposing she didn't get a commission or something for snagging another student?

But he couldn't really think of any real reason to refuse. And beyond that, he really couldn't think of a good way to refuse. And the whole time through, he was just staring at Naru and she was staring back at him, as if they were caught in some sort of deceptive game of chess.

"Well… alright," Keitaro said slowly. "Six thirty it is, Naru-san."

"Great!" the brunette said. "I'll, uhm, see you later, Kei-kun. I have to go…"

She said something after that in a rapid mumble that Keitaro couldn't comprehend. And then, just as quickly as she'd entered and sat at his table, Naru took her things, got up, and left the shop again.

Keitaro couldn't help but stare after her. There was really no doubt about it this time—he'd seen true exhilaration on Naru's face, but why? And how on Earth did that make sense, if she was malicious? Keitaro's understanding of Kitsune's younger friend seemed contradictory, so he really wasn't sure how to think about her. It was as if every time they interacted, he was speaking to a different person. It was as if Naru put on different masks around him—and she'd just then found which one worked on him the best.

* * *

On the way back to the inn, the smirk that Keitaro had caught a glimpse of was on Naru's face again, but this time, she didn't bother to hide it. Oh, he was a difficult one—a sly, cunning, fox of a pervert that even Kitsune had apparently failed to see through. Keitaro was skilled at the dark art of deception, it seemed, because everything about him screamed innocent, innocent, innocent—but he was a guy, and a weird foreigner to boot, so he was certainly guilty, guilty, guilty.

She'd accomplished her objectives with him, though. It had taken her a few days and a few different brief, two-minute encounters in the halls to figure him out, but now, Naru was pretty sure she had him nailed. He was the kind of pervert that liked to keep the pretense of being polite at all costs—and that made things very simple for her. All she had to do to get her way with him was to guilt him into it. He wouldn't say no unless there was an extremely diplomatic way to do so, and provided that Naru was somewhat subtle, she'd have him under her thumb within a week or two.

Better yet, she'd coaxed him into going to cram school with her. That would give her a chance to observe him much more, and the ability to test his limits when the rest of the girls—and Haruka-san—weren't around. She'd given herself quite an opportunity, and was therefore one cautious, tentative step closer to complete victory.

She made a note of her accomplishments in her diary, and then she considered her next move. It wouldn't be wise to do anything at dinner, because Keitaro's #$% seemed to have been aroused. (And by #$%, I mean "suspicions".)

He was a perceptive son-of-a-gun, and Naru made a note of that as well. It seemed that for the time being, she'd have to be extremely subtle around him, because she hadn't yet earned his trust. Physical advances were off the table, for the moment…

…

Naru quickly realized that she really didn't know what kind of advances she _could_ make. If she couldn't earn Keitaro's trust by being touchy-feely with him, or showing a little skin, then what could she do to get him to show her how she might force him out? Just being a presence in his life wasn't enough to get him to say anything important around her; she'd already tried that for a few days with either zero or negative progress.

She had to do something to get him to talk to her—there had to be some interest they shared, or some way she could get them to spend a lot of time in close proximity, or _something_. She considered biking, briefly, but that was out. She hadn't been on anything with two wheels in years; she didn't even have a bike of her own. And biking seemed to be Keitaro's only real interest, so—

Hold on, Naru thought to herself. Keitaro was obsessed with getting into Tokyo University, as far as she knew—at least, he desired to go there very strongly, no doubt to be able to violate every one of its female attendees. And she was one of the best students in Japan, if not _the_ best… so maybe, if she found an innocent way to offer to study with him or got him to make the same suggestion…

It was too soon to make any real plans. Simply going to Keitaro and coaxing him into going to cram school with her had taken a full hour of thinking and meditation to avoid biting his head off the moment he put a toe out of line, and so getting him to study with her in his room, or hers… eurgh.

An angry mass of veins throbbed in Naru's forehead. She kneaded her temples to calm down, and then she just sighed. Why couldn't Keitaro be an open pervert, rather than a closeted pervert?

* * *

Dinner was a cautious affair for both Keitaro and Naru. They sat side to side, so at least there were few awkward moments when they looked up, made eye contact, and then hastily looked away. They were each so focused on being polite, however, that no one else realized that anything was up, except perhaps for Kitsune. She sensed the tension in the air between the gaijan and the brunette—at first, it was a little cute, but when it didn't quickly fade, Kitsune grew concerned.

Something fairly serious was going on, and she didn't know what it was, and that was bad. She'd more or less left Keitaro alone for a few days and had (appeared to have) cleaned up her alcoholism to impress him, but perhaps she'd taken too much of a hands-off approach to the foreigner. Perhaps it was time to do something else with him—but immediately after dinner, it seemed that he was going somewhere… with Naru.

"I'm going to try to get into Naru-san's cram school," Keitaro mentioned when he saw that Kitsune and Shinobu—and maybe even Motoko—were hesitating to leave the room when he went to the front door and started to put his shoes on. "It's a pretty tough place, so wish me luck, alright?"

Appropriate phrases were said, then, by everyone present, including Kitsune—but that didn't mean that she was any less concerned. Giving Keitaro so much time out of the house and away from her… it really wasn't a good idea. It wasn't a good idea at all, but she didn't have the leverage to persuade Keitaro to study alone or hire a tutor or something else. That meant that when he got back, and when they did something again… she'd really have to bring her best game.

Although Kitsune was standing in the living room with her hips cocked and her arms folded, cracking a few light-hearted jokes, her mind was somewhere entirely else.

Keitaro and Naru left, then, and Kitsune was sure to meet Keitaro's eyes when she said goodbye to him. She had to be very crafty indeed to keep his mind on her no matter what he did, where he did it, or who he did it with.

* * *

As Naru had said, her cram school was only one bus away. They barely had to walk—just to the bus stop in Hinata Springs, and then from the bus stop in the city to the school itself, roughly a block and a half away. Although the area immediately adjacent to the bus stop was crammed with activity—food vendors, little shops, and people in transit—the cram school itself seemed to be quite peaceful indeed. It wasn't exactly picturesque, but it certainly seemed like a reputable place. Half the students wore business-casual to class, as far as Keitaro could tell.

And that made him feel a bit self-conscious. Japanese people in general seemed to dress quite well, whereas he was more or less a cargo pants-tee shirt sort of guy. Naru herself seemed to wear quite nice skirts and turtlenecks for the most part—then again, she'd elected to throw on a hoody to attend cram school. She'd even twisted her normally straight hair into two braids, each of which were almost long enough to reach her waist.

She looked very different, Keitaro noted, when she was dressed like that. In fact, when she put her glasses on, she was almost unrecognizable. He was looking right at her and he couldn't help but feel the bizarre sense that he was meeting a total strange for the first time.

He managed to look somewhere else, however, before Naru could catch him almost staring at her. He felt his eyes on her, so he took out his cell phone and pretended to text someone—just to have an alibi—and then, just like that, they were at the cram school's front doors.

"All right," Keitaro said, climbing the brief flight of stairs that led into the halls very carefully indeed, "I guess I should talk to the administrator, right? Where can I find him?"

"You might just catch him now," Naru said. "He might be between classes right now—oh, there he is, Kei—do you see the man in the gray suit? Right there, with the white hair and the iPad—"

"Great—thanks, Naru-san," Keitaro said, briskly striding toward the old man. The hallways weren't too crowded, then, because although the school barely had a seat to spare, most of the students just spent their breaks studying, eating, or napping where they sat. Keitaro didn't have to try hard to avoid running into someone, but when he turned to smile at Naru in gratitude, he did manage to twist his ankle awkwardly and stumble all the way into the administrator himself, knocking the both of them to the ground

Naru winced and turned away as Keitaro apologized, profusely, and tried to help the old man up. She'd approached the administrator and spoken to him personally about letting her "relative" into the cram school, and it was only because she was in the upper 0.1% of Japanese students that she was able to get Keitaro past an intimidating series of exams, interviews, and transcript requests that took weeks to wade through.

Hopefully, he would manage to slide in anyway.

Hopefully, her plans wouldn't have to change yet again.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Keitaro was in class. It was lucky that he'd brought his papers and academic records, and it was even luckier that the administrator seemed to be quite familiar with the testing standards used abroad. Although there wasn't much officially on paper about Keitaro's Japanese, just by talking to the auburn-haired boy, the administrator correctly surmised that it was at least good enough.

The paperwork would catch up with them both soon enough, but for now, Keitaro was free to attend class and complete assignments like a normal cram school student. And the moment he entered and took a seat—next to Naru—he felt absolutely wired.

He was taking a big step closer to Todai, starting right then, and he was feeling it. The classroom was absolutely silent, although the professor hadn't even entered yet—in America, students generally chatted about football and the war prior to class, and in Pakistan, students generally chatted about cricket and the war prior to class. But in Japan, everyone sat with a rigid back and their notebooks open with their pens in their hands, ready to produce dozens of pages of notes in the one hour they and the professor would have together.

Keitaro was a bit of a nerd, when it came to things that he found important. He was obsessed with biking and studying, he realized, but that was more than okay. He had already reaped plenty of rewards by dedicating his life to his callings.

The door to the classroom opened, then, and one final person briskly strode in. It wasn't a student, though; it was the professor—and the moment Keitaro saw him, he knew that he was looking at the Pakistani teacher Naru had mentioned.

There was no way he could have been anyone else. His suit was loose in just the Pakistani way, and his watch and the rims of his glasses were gold. He carried a somewhat beat-up leather case in his hand and he seemed to half-hunch over as he walked, like he was constantly brooding. A healthy tan and straight black hair neatly cut and styled suggested that although he had the demeanor of a grumpy old man, he wasn't a day over forty five years old.

He began to open his case without saying a word to the students. He paused—wiped his glasses and then his eyes with a plaid handkerchief—and then, finally, he began to speak.

"Mathematics," he said, in English rather than Japanese, "is like beautiful woman." He paused. "That is because you will never get her, and if you do, you will not keep her for long unless you impress her every day of your life. If you forget her once," he said, raising a finger for effect, "you will lose her immediately, and you will have to start at beginning all over again."

For the first time, he looked over the class. He didn't seem particularly impressed or displeased—overall, in fact, his expression screamed apathy. But he simply shrugged and looked over a series of loose papers in his hand, and proceeded to attack the topic of the day.

He never bothered to introduce himself—he only remembered to write his name to the side of the board halfway through class—but it was as Naru said: he was _very_ smart. He never turned around to see if a hand was raised, but he to sense when the students were having difficulty several times. When that happened, he slowed down, backtracked, and offered alternative examples _precisely_ to the point that everyone was up to speed again, and then he continued onward without pause.

Keitaro was pretty sure he had a sense of humor, too. Now and then, he seemed to make very subtle plays on words or references that only a native speaker of English could hope to grasp, and at least once, Keitaro believe he saw him scoff or grin or smile.

All at once, though, the bell rang, signaling that class was over. Keitaro almost jumped in his seat when it did; he seemed to have utterly lost himself in the lesson half an hour ago, but he'd written everything important down in his notebook—examples, key concepts, rules, and a shortcut Nawaz casually mentioned creating himself, not two months before. He checked over the papers in his book for a moment and then wrote down the last few parts of a complicated problem that the professor was completing—and then the class was over.

In less than thirty seconds, the Tokyo University professor had erased the board, put his papers and books away and was making his way out the door. He left a classroom of groaning, stretching students in his wake—even Naru seemed exhausted by the dry, theory-based lesson, but Keitaro had to speak to the professor. So, he raced to put his notebook away and prayed that his clumsiness would have mercy on him for a few moments—and then he sprinted out of the classroom after the strange, brooding man.

Many of Keitaro's classmates assumed that he had just had a nervous breakdown—a very understandable reaction to a lesson like that. But Naru guessed what was really going on, and that made her shake her head after the fair-haired gaijan, smirking malevolently. So what if he and the professor were from the same country—that didn't mean anything at all.

* * *

The halls were empty. Although class had either just ended or was coming to a close, the cram school's system was Japanese to the core—teachers moved classrooms, not students. There were a few teachers milling around through the hallways, but the one Keitaro was looking for seemed to have disappeared.

It occurred to him that there was only a ten minute break between classes, and the cram school was huge. He didn't have more than a few moments to talk to the professor he was searching for at best, and if he got lost, he'd thoroughly embarrass himself.

But he absolutely _had_ to talk to the only other Pakistani he was likely to see in Japan, ever, and if he did so later rather than sooner, Nawaz would be understandably insulted. As it was, Keitaro was likely to be perceived as impolite for not catching up to him the moment class ended.

He sprinted down a hallway—paused, backpedalled, and relaxed. There was Nawaz, retreating toward his next class. Keitaro grinned, and then called out for the professor by his surname and title.

The dark skinned man stopped midstep—paused, turned, and then faced Keitaro. He adjusted his glasses so that they sat higher up on his nose, but he didn't say a word—he just stood there and waited for Keitaro to walk up to him. It wasn't that he was irritated—quite—err, probably—but he certainly had no apparent interest in talking to someone half as old as he was.

"_Salaam alaykum_, Professor Nawaz," Keitaro said. Although the professor didn't reply to that in any obvious manner, Keitaro could see shock in the older man's eyes. So he continued to speak in Urdu, rather than Japanese or English.

"My name is Keitaro Urashima. I'm from Pakistan as well—at least, I've lived there most of my life. My father's an ambassador in Islamabad," he explained. "I even have Pakistani citizenship." He paused, and grinned again, although the stern professor's expression hadn't changed. "I never thought I'd meet another Pakistani here in Japan. This is quite an honor."

The professor seemed to take a long moment to think over what he had just been told. He then took his glasses off—wiped them with a handkerchief—and looked at Keitaro eye-to-eye, a feat that few people from South Asia could accomplish.

"So what?" the other Pakistani said, and immediately, Keitaro's face fell. "There are millions of Pakistanis all over the world. Thousands are here in Japan—look it up on your Wikipedia, if you don't believe me. Certainly, most of them are from Islamabad. Do you expect special treatment because we're from the same city?"

"N-no, sir," Keitaro said nervously. "I just wanted to introduce myself."

"I'm sure," Nawaz said dryly. "We're from the same nation, so you think we can relate to each other? I doubt it, Urashima. Now, please, I'm going to be late for my next class—"

"H-hold on, Professor," Keitaro said suddenly, before the vein dangerously throbbing in the older man's forehead could explode. "Your name's Nawaz, and you're from Islamabad... By any chance, do you know my good friend, Mister Afridi? The old record store owner?"

"Yes…" the professor said dangerously.

"Well, Mister Afridi's brother's wife's sister's husband's grandmother's brother's—"

"—dog's second litter's biggest puppy's first owner," the professor suddenly cut in. "His uncle's wife's first husband's—"

"—cousin's daughter's son—"

"—is me," the professor said, suddenly smiling widely. He held out his hand, and Keitaro shook it.

"I guess the stereotype is right," the younger man said. "Put two Pakistanis in a room, and in five minutes, they'll figure out how they know each other."

"Yes, yes," replied the professor. "We'll have to drink together some time, my boy—tea, of course. There's a shop I've heard of not far from here—here, take my businesscard, and contact me after cram school. Now, we must get going—class is about to start."

Keitaro could barely reply as a scrap of paper was pressed into his hands. He managed to say goodbye to the professor—but then he had to run. The first of two bells had rung, announcing that it was very nearly time for class to begin. If Keitaro didn't leg it to his room within a minute, he'd embarrass himself thoroughly.

* * *

Fortunately, he got back into the room on time. He even managed to sit down before the lesson formally began, and although he did attract a few double-takes, it wasn't a big deal. As far as anyone could tell, he was just a tall, lanky kid with dyed hair and an odd sense of fashion. No one knew him, but that wasn't odd—classes that "semester" had just started, so many of the school's students were new.

He was grinning when he returned, as he'd just made (he hoped) a very useful friend indeed, but Naru couldn't consider how to pry any information from him at that time—the next lesson had just started, and it was delivered by a professor so dry and boring that even she, the most elite of elite students, found herself struggling to pay attention by the time the period was halfway finished.

At least the end of that period marked the beginning of a break. At this time, many students snacked or socialized, but Naru had already eaten and she wasn't in cram school to make friends—she was there to study. But then again, this was an excellent time to talk to Keitaro—he was in an unfamiliar setting and she was the only person he knew, after all. He was likely to be a bit more open to her then, rather than other times and in other situations.

So she turned to face him—and she couldn't help but being somewhat impressed. He hadn't so much as stood up; he was staring at something that was confusing him and muttering to himself, trying to make sense of the issue at hand. For a pervert, he was either pretty serious or _very_ adept at pretending the same.

"Oh, Keitaro-kun—did you get a chance to talk to Professor Nawaz?" Naru asked a moment later. "How did he react? He's... not very friendly, or so I've heard."

"Oh, no," Keitaro said, "he's a great guy—he even gave me his card. It turns out we know each other already; what are the odds?" Keitaro grinned.

What he didn't realize, of course, was that he "already knew" every single Pakistani he'd met abroad already. Someone always knew someone that knew someone else, and in this manner, connections existed before someone from Islamabad said a word to someone else from Islamabad.

Inwardly, Naru winced—the last thing she needed was for Keitaro to start making friends outside of Hinata Inn that she couldn't keep track of or easily investigate. It was even worse that he now seemed to have a highly useful contact that she didn't. She struggled to speak normally, without allowing her eye to twitch (too much, anyway).

"Oh?" Naru said. "Well, that's… really something, Kei-kun. You must have… really buttered him up to get his card that easily."

"Nah," Keitaro said bashfully. "I guess I was extra-polite, but… you can't really be anyone but yourself, you know?" He paused, but just for a moment—just long enough for Naru to be taken off-guard by the unexpected wisdom in his statement, but not so long that she was able to recover.

"Say, would you mind helping me out with this? I'm not very good at organic chemistry-what's going on at this phase…?"

Before Naru realized it, she was doing her best to explain her understanding of the issue to Keitaro. He seemed quite sharp—several times, he mouthed what she was going to say before she did. It seemed more that he lacked confidence, rather than skill—but why on Earth did she care about that? He was a lecherous, condemnable pervert, and her mission was to get him thrown out of Hinata Inn.

Before she had to bite back a scream of outrage, though, Naru saw an opening. Just as she was finishing explaining things to Keitaro, she slid back into her seat—and then she began to smile, poisonously, before addressing him in a deadly, malicious purr of a voice.

"Kei-kun… now that I think about it, it would be… good for us both, if we were to study together. Not just here at cram school, I mean—but back home. It'll be a lot harder to get distracted if there's someone else working, right?"

Naru saw Keitaro looking at her, and for a moment, she nearly panicked. It was clear that he was suspicious, but there wasn't exactly anything she could do about that now—she'd committed to what she was doing too deeply to retract her offer. And so she smiled at Keitaro again, a bit more naturally this time—and then, albeit slowly, the auburn-haired boy began to nod.

"That is true, Naru-san. I can definitely understand—first, it's a tea break, then you have to check Facebook, then something's on the news, and then… I know what you're talking about," Keitaro said, grinning ruefully. "You're right. We'll have a two-person study group… say, every afternoon, before cram school?"

"We'll think about all that later," Naru said, barely able to contain her excitement. She covered a broad, malicious grin with a cough, and then sat up straight as the next teacher entered the classroom.

Keitaro did, as well, moments before allowing himself to be sucked into the next lesson. Although this one was more interesting and a bit easier to follow, he couldn't shake the lingering sense of distrust that he had felt ever since he'd taken Naru up on her offer, and that didn't make sense at all… did it?

* * *

Keitaro had imagined that the third class would be the last, but he was sorely mistaken. Cram school was a full five agonizing periods—they didn't get out until quite late at night, and although they caught the first bus back to Hinata Springs, they were not going to get home until just twenty minutes before it was times to sleep. This lifestyle alarmed Keitaro, particularly when he realized he'd be repeating the ordeal every day of the week, except for Saturdays and Sundays.

And he was out of highschool—Narusegawa still had a few weeks left. How she managed to keep up with things was a mystery to him—but then again, Japanese culture was a far cry from anything else Keitaro had known. No one seemed to be particularly stressed, though, although the demands placed on everyone were quite high indeed. He was determined to rise to the challenge, but studying so hard and testing into Tokyo University, while training for the Yokohama Invitational… might be impossible.

He barely said a sentence to anyone after he got home, and although most of the girls assumed that he was simply tired, they were only half-right. Even Narusegawa was unable to see that he was feeling somewhat down—but Kitsune didn't. The minute she set her half-shut eyes on him, she could see that something was up, and before she'd even welcomed him home, she knew what she was going to do about it.

She left him alone for the rest of the evening, though. Although she was careful to hold eye contact with him for just a second longer than was normal, she let him up to his room without bothering him at all, knowing that even talking to him just then wasn't wise. She'd let him stew in melancholy for the rest of the night, while he slept. And in the morning, she would be there for him.

Kitsune wasn't sure what Naru was up to, though she was pretty sure her younger friend had something in mind that she wasn't sharing—but that was alright. Kitsune was older, sexier, and a hundred thousand times more experienced in the dark art of manipulation than Narusegawa would ever be.

* * *

Keitaro woke up with a splitting headache, and before he rolled out of bed, he knew why. So much rigorous learning with so little down-time had taken its toll on him, and it was likely that he'd be unable to get in some biking without popping a pain reliever of some sort. And he hated pain relievers—they always left him feeling drowsy and off-balance, often for hours.

But it looked like it couldn't be helped. Keitaro took a shower, brushed his teeth and generally prepared for the day, and managed to be ready at the early hour he usually was. Still feeling somewhat miserable, he made his way downstairs and into the kitchen to eat breakfast—when he was surprised to see that another one of Hinata Inn's residents was awake.

"_Ohayo_, Kitsune-san," Keitaro said, smiling weakly at the fair-haired girl. "I didn't expect to see you up so early."

"Good morning to you too, sugar," she replied. "Just felt like makin' a change today. How do you like your eggs?"

Keitaro's wits caught up to him, then, and he realized that Kitsune was actually cooking. He'd never seen her do that before, and it wasn't that he assumed that she was terrible. It was just that Shinobu was so good at cooking, and so consistent at waking up early enough to do it—

"Oh, yeah… Shinobu-chan had to attend some early morning study session today, didn't she?" Keitaro said.

"S'right, sug. So—boiled, fried, scrambled, or what?" Kitsune asked. She turned to face the only other person in the inn awake at that hour and gave him a brief but meaningful smile as he meekly replied that he preferred fried eggs.

Keitaro noted that the table hadn't been done yet, so he took out several sets of utensils and started to lay them out. He stopped, however, when Kitsune said that the rest of the girls were planning to go out to eat, or else pick up something on the way to their obligations, and simply left two places on the table prepared for use—his, and Kitsune's.

Coffee was being prepared as well, and when Keitaro smelled it, he felt rather more awake. He realized that Kitsune was making an American-style breakfast, with bacon, toast, and presumably orange juice. A more cynical person would have thought that she'd done that because it was fairly easy to do properly, but that didn't even occur to Keitaro as he began to help her out where he could, and where she would let him.

Several minutes later, though, the meal had been made. Of course, in order to meet his caloric requirements for the day, Keitaro would have to consume a large quantity of carbohydrates afterward, but for now it was more than enough to have his taste buds simulated. He'd even forgotten about his headache as he sat down, across from Kitsune, said _Itadakimasu_, and started to eat.

She was dressed quite nicely, he realized, in a tight pair of jeans and a shirt that was somehow both low-cut and tasteful at the same time. Keitaro couldn't say if she'd used makeup or not, but if she had, it was certainly doing its job. She didn't look fake at all—just… quite nice indeed, actually.

She must have realized that he was staring at her, though, because she was staring right back at him, with her chin resting on her folded hands. She was smiling, but Keitaro didn't catch the slight glint in her eye—he simply flushed, apologized, and looked pointedly at what remained on his plate. A moment later, he too was finished eating—and to prevent Kitsune from doing too much, he took her dishes to the sink as well. When he was finished rinsing them off, he made his way to the pantry to get his cereal—when he remembered that he'd run out the previous day, and had put off buying more until that morning. Keitaro was about to sigh and put on his sneakers when Kitsune appeared right next to him, opened the pantry door, and tossed him a box of processed grain.

"I saw that you were out, so I got ya some more. My treat, sweety—don't argue."

"Alright… th-thanks, Kitsune-san," Keitaro said—and although he knew, by then, that it was Kitsune's nature to tease him for stuttering, she didn't. She just smiled at him and insisted on washing the dishes as he continued eating by himself.

"So, Kei," Kitsune began, several moments later, "what are your plans for today? You have cram school in the evening, right?"

"Yeah," Keitaro replied. "Besides that… just biking and studying, I guess."

Kitsune knew that, of course, but she'd asked precisely to achieve the dull, forlorn undertone to Keitaro's voice. He wasn't quite melancholic, but right then, he certainly wasn't feeling the best about the way things were going. Sure, he was studying and biking hard, but he had no friends and no time to relax or explore or anything. It was in this somewhat dark moment that Kitsune would come to him—and he wouldn't be able to refuse her.

"So—since you still have a while until the Invitational," Kitsune said, "I guess yer just biking to get a cardio workout, right? The more technical stuff about mountain biking… well, I guess you already have it down, right?"

"That's right," Keitaro said, somewhat impressed—it was as if Kitsune had carefully monitored his training and then done a fair amount of research to figure out why he was doing what he was doing. "Actually, it might be better for me to run today. I get a better workout more quickly…"

"What about swimming?" Kitsune asked. "That's cardio, right? And a full-body workout, not just your legs." She'd finished washing the dishes by then, and made her way back to the table. She sat across from Keitaro, gave her hair a stroke, and watched as he considered—and then nodded.

"Yeah, swimming's a great cardio exercise. I used to do it at home, all the time, but we have a communal pool in my neighborhood. So, it's no trouble if you want to go swimming."

"It's no trouble around here, either," Kitsune said. "You know the big building in town, about, what, three blocks away? The gym?"

Keitaro nodded—he'd seen it several times, and it was actually one of the landmarks in Hinata Springs he used to know where he was.

"Well, it actually has a pool," Kitsune continued. "A pretty big one, too, with an Olympic-standard diving board and everything. I was actually thinking of getting a few laps in today—hey, why don't you join me?" she suggested, as if it had just occurred to her. "I have membership, and I can take a guest a couple times a month for free, so it won't cost a yen."

Getting an invitation to have some fun was something that simply didn't fit into Keitaro's opinion of Japan. Everything was so rigidly structured that spontaneity seemed impossible, except when it came to joining a cram school, or waking up in the middle of the night to sneak in a few more hours of study, or rushing to the internet when word arrived that a test or something was leaked.

Where he was from—well, he'd taken a trip to Waziristan with zero forethought and zero planning. Kitsune's sudden invitation made Keitaro blink in surprise—and then immediately accept.

"That would be great, Kitsune-san," Keitaro said. "It's been a while since I took a swim—alright, I'm finished eating; shall we get going?"

Kitsune seemed to expect that, though. She simply grinned and shook her head, and before Keitaro could stop her, she'd taken the rest of his dishes to the sink.

"Not right away, sug. Give it an hour, and then we'll head out. Besides, I have a folder of paperwork with my name on it," she winced. "Getting promoted's a real son-of-a-gun."

"Congratulations," Keitaro said reflexively.

He was impressed, of course, but not exactly surprised. He didn't know the real Kitsune; the Kitsune he knew was a character that had carefully been created to impress him—he didn't know that she was an alcoholic and a loser. As far as he knew, she was just another twenty-something, trying to make her way in the world.

Come to think of it, it was a real shame that Keitaro's perception of Kitsune was completely false. Sans alcohol and general hedonism and with significantly more clothing than she generally wore, Kitsune wasn't a bad person at all. Certainly, the new Kitsune was a suitable lady-friend for a Todai-sei—it was just a shame that her days were numbered.

* * *

Keitaro had, of course, spent his hour off studying. He went over a few tricky calculus procedures, texted his parents and a few friends—and then it was time to pack up and head out. Kitsune had just arrived downstairs by the time Keitaro was ready, and so neither of them had to wait around. They simply greeted one another and then head outside.

The weather was perfect—too perfect to make hitting the trail worthwhile. For all Keitaro knew, the Yokohama Invitational would happen in the middle of a thunderstorm, and it had been some time since he'd biked during a downpour. Usually, he got a full season of bad weather biking at home, thanks to the monsoon—in Japan, he'd simply have to take rainy days when they came.

So, all in all, he wasn't hurting himself at all by swimming instead of biking. After all, it was a better cardio workout.

"You're quiet," Kitsune said, as they made their way down the stairs leading up to Hinata Inn. "Something on your mind, Kei-kun?"

"Nothing much," Keitaro replied, honestly. "Just thinking. I guess I haven't really gotten used to training in Japan yet. It's a lot different from how I do it at home… I hope I adapt to it soon. Otherwise, the YI…"

"Eh, I wouldn't worry about it too much," Kitsune said, waving a hand dismissively. She pretended to stumble on one stair, giving herself an excuse to move a little closer to Keitaro. "I see you walkin' out of the forest all the time, sug. Half the time, you look more beat-up than your bike, big guy."

"Thanks," Keitaro grinned, "but I'm facing some pretty tough competition. There's one guy in particular I want to beat…"

His expression darkened a little bit, and Kitsune took note of that with surprise. Did Keitaro have a rival? Or a nemesis? She was about to ask, but Keitaro suddenly looked up at her and grinned.

"Anyway, it'll be a pretty difficult race. I'll have to be at the absolute top of my game to have a chance at finishing in the top ten positions. And to finish first, well... I'll need to be at the absolute top of my game, and very lucky too."

Kitsune decided not to respond to that. She didn't know quite enough about the YI or biking in general to make good conversation about those topics, and besides, take a brief break from chatting would give Keitaro a chance to look at her and see that she really was quite attractive, and that she wasn't far from his side at all, either...

She saw him almost blushing as he attempted, largely unsuccessfully, to prevent his eyes from flickering over her form, and knew that she had been wise to show _just_ the right amount of skin. Better yet, she'd not taken the most direct route to the gym—now, they had turn right, and since she was walking to the left of Keitaro, she'd bump into him, softly, before he realized that they were changing direction.

When it happened, she saw Keitaro flush and almost stammer something. He glanced at her, but her expression was carefully kept happy-neutral—he would have no conception of the fact that she was maneuvering not just his body, but his mind and his desires as well.

And this was just phase one. When they got into the gym, and hit the swimming pool... well, Kitsune had purchased a new swimsuit for a reason.

* * *

In fact, not only had Kitsune bought a new swimsuit, she'd worn it under her clothes to the gym. She was therefore able to spend minimal time in the locker room before getting out to the pool itself. She simply stripped off her clothes, locked up her belongings, and headed into the massive inside room as quickly as she could.

Her next step was to take a brief dip in the water. She hopped in and let the water come up to her neck, but held her hair up so that it wasn't yet soaked. In the process, she looked around—excellent, the place was all but empty. There were a few older folks doing laps at the far end of the pool, but no one was near the locker rooms. No one would be there for Keitaro to pretend to be distracted by when he exited the men's locker room and met Kitsune.

He was a disciplined guy, she knew, but he was still a guy. Unless there was a new model mountain bike in the area that Kitsune hadn't seen, there was absolutely nothing that would be more interesting to him, just then, than her. Her skin was perfect and sleek and pale, and her lips were full and pink and soft. She'd manipulated the muscles in her face to force blood to her cheeks so that she was blushing as well, but these were all minutiae. What made Kitsune absolutely irresistible to Keitaro was her body and her clothing—or the lack thereof.

She wore a black bikini made out of so little material that it didn't bother with a pattern. Its design was triangular, overall, and this meant that her endowments tended to make her limited coverings look even smaller than they already were. The water on her skin added a sort of quality to her that made her look almost too beautiful to be real, but she would be sure to leave no doubt in Keitaro's mind as to how real she was.

It wasn't very long before the men's locker room door opened and Keitaro exited. He looked at the pool for a moment, apparently pleased by how big and clean and empty it was—and then Kitsune approached from his side.

"Hey, sug. What took you so long? I was about to come in to look for you..."

Her teasing tone broke off as she got closer to Keitaro. She couldn't help it—after all, hot damn!

That is to say, apart from being tall and gifted with exotic Eurasian features, Keitaro was ripped to shreds. He didn't have big muscles by any standard, but there wasn't an ounce of fat on his frame. He had abs and although it was clear that he was lean by nature, he didn't have the unhealthy look of someone who starved himself to maintain a six-pack year-round. His swimming trunks were patterned red, black, and white, and they actually made him look like a bit of a BAMF.

Kitsune had intended to practically entrance Keitaro with how well she looked, but, unwittingly, Keitaro had reciprocated. The result was that the two young adults stared at one another for a full ten seconds before recovering at the same instant, blushing, and turning away.

It was Kitsune who had coherent thoughts first—Keitaro's mind was still repeating the same images and words and fantasies to him when the foxy lady spoke.

"S-so, uhm... ready to swim, big guy?"

By the time he looked at her again, she had gotten closer to him. In fact, she had gotten so close to him that he could feel the heat off her body—she was warm.

"Hmm? Oh—swim, yeah, swimming, I mean," Keitaro struggled to recover. He grinned, blushing almost oppressively, and rubbed the back of his head with a hand. "That's why we came here, isn't it?"

Kitsune couldn't help but grin, a little, but that helped to remove the awkwardness from the situation. A moment later, she and Keitaro were making their way toward the lanes without glancing at one another uncomfortably or blushing. And after that, they slipped into the water and began to swim.

Of course, he was about two times faster than she was, but now and they, they would both stop to take breaks and then they would find something to talk about. It surprised Kitsune how friendly and interesting Keitaro could be when he wasn't worried about how he was being perceived or about how to treat her properly—he was polite and respectful by nature. For her part, Kitsune did have to concentrate just a little bit to keep track of what was being said for later analysis, but it was pretty clear that she and Keitaro had gone from being simply acquaintances to being friends.

It was all a game, of course; at least, that's what Kitsune told herself. She was manipulating Keitaro—there was no sincere friendliness between them and there wouldn't be until she had him on a leash and collar... perhaps literally.

* * *

(What the Hell, I'm going to try to continue this piece. Let's see what happens.)


	5. Chapter 5

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Five

* * *

(I actually thought this chapter out before posting it. Let's see how it goes…)

* * *

Keitaro had an okay workout at the pool. It wasn't terrible, but it certainly wasn't great—it was a merely okay workout. And although anything apart from an extremely strenuous test of his physical prowess would normally upset him for hours on end, he found himself more or less ambivalent—even in a good mood—as he and Kitsune made their way back home.

It was later in the day, by then, and both he and the foxy lady at his side had had a good time. There was no doubt that the both of them were a little tired from their activities—all the movement, the passion, and the sounds of their voices grunting with exertion had made for an experience that neither of them would shortly forget.

Maybe he really had made quite a good decision when he'd come to Japan, Keitaro thought. Sure, the first few days were difficult, but now that he was starting to get into the swing of things, it only took him an hour or so daily to perform his managerial duties. The rest of the day was his to spend studying and biking, and that was good, because although it was still about two months until the Yokohama Invitational, now was most definitely not the time to slack off and get lazy.

"Thanks for taking me to the pool, Kitsune," he found himself saying, after a few moments of relative silence. He adjusted the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder, and turned to give her a smile. "It was a great way to break the monotony."

"Anytime, sug," she replied. And, surprisingly, she really meant it—she, too, had had a good time.

"You're a very good swimmer, come to think of it," Keitaro said. "I'm okay myself, but it was easy to tell that you're much better than I am. Were you… an athlete, at some point?" he asked.

"Yeah, actually," Kitsune replied. "I swam pretty much all my life. I was in the swim team throughout high school, too… made captain for the last two years, as a matter of fact."

"Wow," Keitaro said, duly impressed. He looked at the woman at his side with newfound respect, or perhaps an unexpected feeling of camaraderie.

"So, why did you stop?"

Kitsune stumbled, for some reason. For a moment, she didn't answer, but then she looked back at Keitaro with an unreadable smile on her face.

"Just didn't feel like it anymore," she said smoothly. "I guess the whole transition from "kid" to "adult" hit me all of a sudden, and the next thing I knew, it'd been months since I went down to the pool, so… that's it, I guess."

"That's a shame," Keitaro said. "I'm sure you were excellent in your prime, Kitsune. Even today, watching you was… a rare treat," he said, as if he'd chosen his words carefully.

Perhaps he had. Because, despite that she was the most cunning, conniving, and potentially manipulative person she'd ever met, Kitsune found herself blushing.

But Keitaro was grinning innocently.

"I bet if you went back into practice, you'd be able to win… whatever the swimming analogue of the Yokohama Invitational is," he said.

"Bet you're wrong," Kitsune said.

"Bet I'm right," Keitaro countered.

For a moment, the two of them seemed at an impasse. They stared one another down, sized one another up, and then, with a challenging glint in her voice, Kitsune spoke.

"All right, wise guy," she said. "I'll go back into practice, and I'll do my level best in it. We'll find a major swimming competition around here, and if I win it, then… I'll owe you a big favor."

"But if I lose," Keitaro said.

"Then you owe me a big favor," Kitsune said.

"How big?"

"Chickening out already? I don't blame you," Kitsune teased. "Say… something pretty big. Like, buying me a really nice bottle of scotch, or… I dunno, taking me with you when you go to visit your folks or somethin'. Yeah," she said, seeing the somewhat shocked expression on Keitaro's face as the significance of the bet became clear. "We're not talking something that can be settled over a few hundred yen."

"Fair enough," Keitaro said, quickly regaining his composure. "In that case, you really have to do your level best to practice and win this competition. That means, keep a good diet, sleep at least eight hours every night," he began to count on his fingers, "practice at least a few hours each day, and no drinking alcohol."

"Whoa, whoa whoa," Kitsune said. His composure was regained, but hers was not. "No alcohol?"

"Well, if you're going to be a serious athlete, you can't really drink," Keitaro said. "But, I guess, if you want to have a Jack and coke on a Saturday evening or something, I'll make an exception."

Kitsune didn't look convinced.

"Chickening out, are we? That's alright," Keitaro teased. "I guess you're not the kind of person who's willing to take bets seriously—"

"Don't you ever," Kitsune said seriously, "insult my betting."

Keitaro wondered if he'd gone too far. But then, Kitsune grinned and held out a held, though the challenging glint in her eye was still there.

"All right, Urashima-san," she said. "You've got a bet."

They shook.

Some vague corner of Keitaro's mind said that he had no idea what he was getting into, but, quite frankly, it didn't matter. If Kitsune did come through on her end of the bet with the flying colors he'd demanded of her, he'd have to spend, at most, the equivalent of a thousand or two dollars. That was a significant cost, but it was worth it—and that was because the parameters of the bet itself would probably wear Kitsune down within a few days.

"Great," Keitaro said. "So, I guess to make sure that you don't drink on the sly, I'll head back to Hinata Inn now and smash up your collection."

"What?"

"If you want to stop me," Keitaro said, starting to run, "you'll have to catch me."

"No one threatens my booze! Come here, you!"

Kitsune gave chase, but, of course, she wasn't quite at the optimal level of physical fitness she had been in the final days of high school. Keitaro began to peel away from her, laughing the whole while—until he slipped, fell down a sloped road, and only missed being hit by a passing car by the skin of his teeth.

He was alright, of course. Kitsune caught up to him and helped him to his feet, and such was her attention on the _surface_ of what was going on that it didn't occur to her for a second that she had just been moved like a chess piece.

* * *

Keitaro had some time to prepare for that evening's cram school session, so he used it to study history and some intricacies of the Japanese language. According to Kitsune, his spoken Japanese was essentially perfect—only a few little oddities here and there might lead one to think that he hadn't been born and raised speaking it. On the other hand, he could only write and read it _okay_. And that wasn't acceptable, not for a Tokyo University student.

On the other hand, Keitaro trusted the rest of his academic skills enough to believe that he had a solid chance at getting in. As long as he studied hard, of course.

Dinner, that day, was a subdued affair. Keitaro was too distracted by studying to really enjoy himself, and it seemed that everyone else at the table had something on their minds as well, so no one particularly mentioned that he was being quiet.

And when dinner was finished, it was time to head to cram school with Narusegawa.

They headed out of Hinata Inn together, several minutes earlier than was necessary, and for some time no words passed between them. Keitaro seemed to be enjoying the sight of the pleasant little town at such a relaxed hour, when most families were still eating and the streets were relatively clear. Naru, on the other hand, was concerned about some difficult calculus problems Nawaz had gone over the previous class; she'd have to pay extra close attention this time around to solidify her understanding of the subject.

And, unfortunately, that meant that less attention could be allocated to Keitaro.

She sighed.

"_Look at the smug little bastard,"_ she thought to herself. _"Sitting there like nothing's wrong… texting on his cell phone. I wonder if he's set a speed-dial to his al Qaeda buddies?"_

"Bless you, Narusegawa."

"Th… thanks, Keitaro."

Naru only answered after she was sure that she could brush off her laughter as a sneeze. Stifling another scoff with her hand, she took a few seconds before looking at Keitaro again.

"I didn't see you all afternoon," she mentioned vaguely, so that he could give her information about him without her directly asking for it.

"Oh, I went swimming with Kitsune," Keitaro said. "She's actually really, really good."

Narusegawa was nodding, though, as if she expected such a statement.

"Yeah… you should have seen her a couple years ago, though. I went with her a couple weeks ago, and she did laps around me—but back then, it was even worse."

Uh oh. Keitaro seemed to remember, then, that Naru had been Kitsune's closest friend for several years now. And that meant that Naru knew the question he was going to ask next before he even opened his mouth.

"So… do you know why she gave it up? I asked her about it, but it seemed like she… didn't really want to talk about it."

Now, there was a hardness in Naru's eyes that she didn't bother to dial back.

"It's sort of… a personal issue, Keitaro. I don't think you should ask her about it again… like, ever."

"I'm sorry," Keitaro said automatically. "It's just… she just smiled, but I think I may have struck a nerve, so I wanted to be sure that I hadn't really upset her."

He seemed genuinely contrite, the son-of-a-bitch. He was such a good actor that he _had_ to be an honest-to-God sociopath, to pretend to be upset about things like this when inside, he was surely cackling and taunting Kitsune.

He'd get his soon enough, though. And holding onto that thought gave Naru the control to continue as if she had been taken by his performance. Damn—he'd been saying something this whole time.

"… and that's how I convinced her to give up alcohol."

"What?"

Naru's exclamation drew a volley of disapproving glares from the other passengers. Guiltily, she muttered a quiet "sorry" before looking Keitaro in the eye and demanding him to repeat what he'd just said.

He did. And, so, it seemed that Keitaro had accomplished what Naru would have otherwise thought impossible.

"No way," she said, when he was finished relating the story to her. "Kitsune, giving up alcohol? That must be like… you, giving up biking."

Keitaro winced as if he'd been stabbed, and Naru couldn't help but grinning both at the idea that she'd hit the nail on the head, and the idea of Keitaro getting stabbed itself.

"Please don't say such terrible things," Keitaro said. "Me, giving up biking… eaugh."

He shivered involuntarily and then sheepishly smiled as Naru laughed at him in what she hoped came off as a friendly gesture.

* * *

The topic being covered that day at cram school was implicit differentiation—nothing too difficult at all, not for Keitaro at least. As far as he was concerned, math in general was quite easy—all you had to do was to commit the general rules and the process to memory. If that was accomplished, even the most difficult mathematics problem was nothing more than an algebraic grind.

It helped, certainly, that Professor Nawaz was very competent at his work indeed. Not only did he reinforce the motivation for the process in just a few simple sentences that day, he showed his class several shortcuts that would save precious time during testing.

Towards the end of that class, however, things started to get complicated. Keitaro had been struggling to focus just minutes before, but now, he found himself paying absolute attention to what was being written down on the board. He was keeping up—he thought—but judging from the way his classmates would feverishly scribble down notes in their books before glancing up to scribble down more notes, _while_ trying to pay attention to what was going on suggested that he was one of the few who were.

Suddenly, Professor Nawaz seemed to realize that he was leaving his students behind in the dust, and paused for a long second. He cleaned his glasses off with his handkerchief, and sat back for a moment.

"Well? What's so difficult?" he asked. "Come along, speak up, somebody."

He paused. And then, he seemed to grow irritated.

"I can't help you if you won't explain what's wrong," Nawaz said. "I—yes, _thank you_, Mister Urashima—what's the problem?"

Keitaro slowly lowered his hand. He looked from his notes to the board and back to his notes, just to double-check, and then he spoke in a soft, uncertain voice.

"Professor, I… isn't—in the first line on the right side of the board—from my perspective—you were deriving with respect to x. So, in the next line, you have dx/dx—but after that, you have dy/dx. Shouldn't dx/dx just be… one?"

The professor turned and looked at the board for a moment, in particular at the areas Keitaro referred to. Then, he erased the first part of the problem and rewrote it, before going down to make a series of small changes to the remainder of the process.

"I agree completely. Thank you for paying such good attention, Mister Urashima," Nawaz said sincerely.

The lecture hall was silent. No one dared to speak.

"Look," the professor said, "I have two Masters' and a Ph.D, but I'm not perfect—I, too, make small mistakes from time to time, and it's your responsibility to help me catch them. Right?"

The lecture hall was still silent; no one dared to move—except for Keitaro. Keitaro nodded several times—noticed that he was the only one doing so—and quickly stopped.

Nawaz sighed.

And then the bell announcing the end of that period rang.

"For homework, do the first, let's say, twenty problems in this chapter," Nawaz said, even as he erased what he'd just written. "It should take you no more than half an hour to do from start to finish. Mister Urashima, please see me after last period—I'll be waiting for you."

The professor left after that, and Keitaro made to follow him—he was thirsty and his legs needed a stretch, and apart from that there was a noodle bar across the street and he needed a few more calories for the day—

And it was then that he noticed that every single student in the lecture hall was staring at him.

For a moment, Keitaro was confused. Did he have something on his face? No, he didn't think so—so what was wrong?

He felt himself starting to blush, so he continued down the stairs that led toward the classroom's exit, pausing only to gesture for Naru to join him. He had to know what was so damn interesting about him.

* * *

"Really? So, if a teacher makes a mistake, it's considered good etiquette to _not_ correct them?"

"Exactly," Narusegawa said. "And it makes sense—if the teacher was stopped and corrected every time anyone _thought_ there was a mistake, we'd never get through a whole lesson! And besides, it's rude."

Keitaro found himself shaking his head.

"_But if you _don't_ correct the teacher when he's made an honest mistake,"_ he wanted to say, _"then he teaches you the wrong thing and you study wrong, practice wrong, and get it wrong on the test!"_

He resigned himself, however, to simply shaking his head.

"I guess I'm not entirely used to Japanese etiquette yet, then," he admitted. "But Professor Nawaz didn't seem to mind."

"Well, that's because he's a foreigner, too," Naru said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

And, in a way, it was. It was just that… for a time, Keitaro had felt that he wasn't a foreigner. He spoke Japanese fluently, after all, and besides, Japan was in his _blood_. So what if he also considered himself Pakistani—and American—he could be Japanese too, couldn't he?

Perhaps not, Keitaro thought. Perhaps, no matter what, there would always be a glass wall that he'd never be able to break.

Maybe it was because he didn't understand the culture perfectly yet.

Maybe it was because of his heritage.

His eyes narrowed for a brief moment, before he forced himself to smile and think about more pleasant things.

"Anyway," Naru said, "what do you think Professor Nawaz wants to talk to you about after class?"

"I'm not sure," Keitaro admitted. "Maybe he just wants to chat for a few minutes? He did say that we would have to have tea sometime, after all."

He said that like it was no big deal, and the injustice of it all made Naru want to scream. But she didn't—instead, she satisfied herself by digging her fingernails into her palms and smiling, venomously, as Keitaro shrugged his shoulders and used his chopsticks to take another large bite of the steaming hot ramen he'd ordered for himself.

He'd offered to get her something, but she wasn't hungry. Well, no, that wasn't quite true, but it was getting close to autumn and she was watching her weight, so he could go to Hell for trying to tempt her like that. Besides, she wasn't some sort of calorie-freak like he was—_she_ had the nutritional needs of a normal human being, not like him.

"Ahm… Keitaro, I'm not sure if you realize it," Naru said, "but having tea with a teacher like that… with an actual Tokyo University professor… it's actually a really, really big deal."

"Yeah, I know," Keitaro said casually. He glanced at Naru's expression, and grinned.

"If I think about it too much, I'll get too nervous. I won't be able to enjoy myself at tea, and I'll probably embarrass myself badly. It's just like preparing for a big race or something," Keitaro said. "You do your best, but you don't think about just how high the stakes are, because if you pressure yourself too much, you'll definitely screw up."

He shrugged.

"That's my philosophy, anyway, and I've found that I almost always perform better when I'm just a little relaxed."

"Idiot," Naru said.

"Excuse me?" Keitaro asked, unsure of what he'd just heard.

"I, uhm, coughed," Naru said unconvincingly. She then fake-coughed even less convincingly than she'd spoken, and eventually found herself blushing and unwilling to meet Keitaro's eyes.

"Anyway," Keitaro said, turning back to his noodles, "I wonder what Kitsune's up to…"

* * *

It had been a few hours already, and Kitsune hadn't broken down yet.

But by God was she getting close to.

It didn't help that she kept her alcohol in her room, neatly organized at a minibar (well—minus the mini) in a corner of her room. She had everything there, from ale to Zwetschgenwasser, and she had shot glasses, wine glasses, Collins glasses and highball glasses. In the fridge, there was ice and whisky stones, and she had every sort of mixer an enthusiast like her ought to.

Time, Kitsune had found, went a _lot_ slower when you were sober. Apart from that, things were far less interesting, and overall it seemed that there was much less to _do_.

After swimming with Keitaro, she had gone to her room, written off a few columns for her employer, and then she had… realized that there was absolutely nothing she had to do, or particularly wanted to do.

She had ended up trying to waste some time on Youtube. But by the fourth video of cats, or people getting owned or whatever, she had found that she really wasn't in the mood to watch funny videos at all.

So, now, she was pacing back and forth in her room, constantly glancing at her booze. It was tempting to just have a glass, or a shot, or a _taste_ of something nice—and after that, that would be it for good, at least until the end of the bet.

But Kitsune held herself back. With her, there was no such thing as just one drink. It was always drink to get buzzed at the very least; more often it was drink to get drunk. And although Kitsune hadn't gotten blackout drunk in the past few weeks, she knew that that was simply because her tolerance for alcohol had gotten so high that she'd _die_ before she got that drunk.

Funny—Kitsune hadn't grown up around excessive drinking. Hell, she hadn't even _tasted_ alcohol until she was eighteen, but now…

Now she realized how much of the past several years of her life had been defined by alcohol.

Maybe it really was time for her to give it up—at least for some time. At least for some time.

Kitsune was still bored. But now, when she looked up at the minibar in the corner of her room, she felt no desire to taste its contents whatsoever.

* * *

Although math that day had been quite manageable for Keitaro, by the end of the night he felt stretched, to say the least. Five periods of night school was just too much!

On the other hand, he did feel that he had a better idea of what to study. His knowledge of World War II, for example, was somewhat lacking in some ways, so perhaps he'd hit the history books hard the next day if Wikipedia didn't suffice.

For now, though, he didn't want to think about anything—he just wanted to go home, have a quick shower, and go to sleep.

In fact, Keitaro was so out of it that he forgot that he had to meet with Professor Nawaz—right up until he walked out of the classroom door.

Fortunately, however, the professor was standing in the hall, using his cell phone to check something or do something else. He looked up when Keitaro approached—smiled—and led the younger Pakistani to a hallway perpendicular to the exiting flow of students.

"I called some of my friends at home," the professor said almost immediately, so that Keitaro didn't have to stand around awkwardly and try to start the conversation himself. "It seems that you're quite the mountain biker, eh, Mr. Urashima?"

"Well, yes, sir," Keitaro said. "It's my passion."

"Wonderful," the professor said. "Now, I wanted to talk to you about a special opportunity I've been told about… but you probably have to catch a bus home,_ accha_? So I won't keep you very long; we'll have to discuss it in depth later.

"Anyway, I work very closely with the rest of the math department at Tokyo University," Nawaz explained. "One of the younger professors is trying to start a formal mountain biking team for the school. There are still a lot of details to be worked out, but it's looking good for him so far. What this means to you is that if you prove yourself as a biker—maybe at some sort of big race or something—well, let's just say that you won't need to sweat the national exams so much."

Keitaro was dumbstruck. This was almost too good to be true—but it seemed to be really, actually happening. It seemed that for once, things were really going his way.

"_Shukria_, Professor," he said a moment later. "I'm—_bahad shukria_!"

"Not a problem, my boy," the professor replied. "Anyway, we should both get going soon, but we really must meet for tea someday soon, alright? I may be a bit busy this week, but—send me an email and I'll tell you if I'll be available. Alright?"

"_Theek hai_, Professor," Keitaro said. "I'll be sure to do it soon—goodbye!"

They shook hands, briefly, and separated. Keitaro was in such high spirits that he practically skipped his way to the bus stop—and, in the process, nearly got run over by a truck.

In the end, he ended up missing the bus, and that was the last one of the day, so he was forced to walk all the way home.

But he did, and he got home in good spirits. He was willing to sacrifice a little good fortune with public transport, after all, for a lot of good fortune with opportunities from Tokyo University Professors.

* * *

The bus ride back to Hinata Springs was ten to fifteen minutes. And Naru spent every last one of them brooding.

How on Earth was it that Keitaro managed to get good fortune dumped into his lap like that?

First, he'd been given ownership of the entire Hinata Inn property, and now he was getting to talk to an honest-to-God Tokyo University professor. And if that wasn't enough, they were actually going to have tea together!

How did he maintain such an innocent, decent façade—because Naru knew that that was all it was, a façade. Deep down, Keitaro was a lowlife and a jerk, so there had to be some times when he took off the friendly mask he wore and let loose.

Perhaps Naru could find a way to force him to take his mask off—perhaps at a particularly opportune time.

Keitaro had buttons; everyone did, but if Naru just began to push them—even to just find out what they were—Keitaro would grow to distrust her. If that happened, any plots she made about him were likely to fail, simply because he would know better than to let her get to him.

She'd have to be subtle.

That was bad news, perhaps, but the good news was that she did have some knowledge to go on by that point. She knew, for example, that when Keitaro's own foreign nature was thrown in his face, he tended to grow morose and moody. If that was a chink in his armor, it probably wouldn't take much more pushing from her to engender a _real_ reaction.

So, she was making progress—slow, gradual progress, but progress nonetheless.

On the other hand, it looked like Keitaro was starting to move faster. What he'd done or said to Kitsune to convince her to give up alcohol… Naru wasn't sure, but she _was_ sure that it wasn't as simple and innocent as the story he'd told her.

But what was his engame?

Naru wasn't sure. But she was sure that no matter what it was, it didn't bide well for her, Kitsune, or Hinata Inn itself.

* * *

The first thing Naru did when she got back was to check on Kitsune. She had to be sure that her friend was alright, so scarcely pausing to throw her backpack onto the couch, Naru strode directly toward the fox den—Kitsune's spacious room on the first floor.

She knocked. There was no answer.

She knocked again. Still there was no answer.

So, after pausing for a moment, Naru decided to go to the next level.

"Kitsune?" Naru asked as she slowly opened the door—but no one was there. The room was empty… and it was _clean_.

Kitsune wasn't exactly a slob, since she took out her trash and cleaned her dishes and such things, but she wasn't exactly a neat freak, either. Usually when Naru was in her room, there were piles of books and paper here and there, or clothes, or _something_—but now, Naru found herself looking at a _very_ neat, well-organized room. Everything was put away and nothing was out of place—

And now she was starting to get seriously worried.

Now that she thought about it, she should have checked Kitsune's favorite hangouts in town. She was probably more than a little buzzed even then, or else she was on a park bench somewhere making out with a guy she'd never see again after the night was through.

Naru had already tried texting Kitsune, and calling her, before she found herself seriously going back to town to try to find the wayward fox. It was late, certainly, but she had to make sure that Keitaro hadn't seriously addled with Kitsune's mind—

"There she is," a familiar voice said. "What're you doing in front of my room, Naru?"

"_There_ you are," Naru said reflexively.

Kitsune had approached her from a small side entrance to Hinata Inn, one that led directly from the hot springs to the hallway where her room was located.

Come to think of it, she ought to have checked the hot springs before heading out, Naru thought. But… Kitsune didn't look like she'd been in the hot springs, not at all. She wasn't half-naked and pleasantly relaxed, for one thing—in fact, she was sweaty and still panting a little bit.

"What were you up to?" Naru asked suspiciously.

"Eh, I was just doing some running," Kitsune answered. "I'm trying to get back into shape because of this little bet I made with Keitaro—"

"No, no, he told me about that," Naru said, shaking her head. "I just…"

"_I couldn't believe that he was actually being honest."_

"Are you really giving up alcohol?"

"Yeah," Kitsune said, as if it were no big deal. "At least until the bet's over, anyway. Why d'you look so surprised, Naru? It's not like I'm addicted to the stuff or something."

"_Well, actually…"_

"You're right," Naru said. "It shouldn't be hard for you to get off of it and stay off, right, Kitsune?"

"Right," Kitsune said, still in that nonchalant manner. But now, there was just a hint of concern in her voice—just a hint of uncertainty.

Naru simply held Kitsune's gaze for a moment before giving her friend a brief but heartfelt hug.

"You can do it, Kitsune," Naru said. "You're the best swimmer I know, period, and if you set your mind to it, I know that you can win this little bet with Keitaro. And when you do, _I'll_ take you out and get you whatever you want to drink for a whole night."

"Thanks, Naru," Kitsune said. "I mean it."

* * *

Keitaro got home quite late that night, and so he woke up a little late the next day. He missed breakfast, but Shinobu had saved something for him in a small plastic container left on the dining table.

She really was a very sweet person indeed, Keitaro thought as he ate some sort of vegetable frittata with ketchup, and, of course, his famous multiple bowls of cereal.

Today, he didn't have too many responsibilities. He just had his studies, of course, and some biking, and that was about it. That was nice—it would be good to have a relatively quiet day around the house for a change, when he'd really be able to buckle down and get some serious practice in.

Of course, there was no reason whatsoever to not, for example, do a little web browsing while he was eating.

So, Keitaro used his phone to navigate to the website of his favorite news aggregator and had a look around, just to see what was going on.

War, terrorism, political drama, celebrity nonsense—all in all, it looked like just another day, when Keitaro saw that he'd received a series of emails through the night, since he'd gone to sleep. They seemed to be spam, he noted—each subject line had numerous exclamation marks in it and several were marked as urgent, yet his filter had let them through.

Now why would that be?

Keitaro then noticed that it was simply because each email was from a contact of his. From two contacts of his, actually, and when Keitaro looked into the first email, he saw exactly what was going on.

He grinned to himself and started to eat a little faster.

It had only been a few days since he'd arrived in Japan. But it looked like he'd have to hurry back to the airport as soon as he possibly could.

* * *

"What's up, guys? I didn't expect to see you again so soon!"

"Yo, Kei. How're things with you?"

Girls might have greeted one another with hugs, but guys certainly didn't—not even if they were bros, for all intents and purposes. Guys _shook hands_, and that was precisely what Keitaro did to two of his closest friends in all the world… Masayuki Haitani and Kimiaki Shirai.

The two other young men were from DC, for the most part, but as full-blooded Japanese with many more connections to their homeland than Keitaro, they spent almost as much time within Japan as they did outside of it. Still, Keitaro had spent many years in school with them and even when he was in Pakistan, they kept in very close contact, and why not? Both Haitani and Shirai were also interested in mountain biking (though neither of them took things quite as far as Keitaro did), and both were great friends and people in general.

"So why are you here?" Keitaro asked his two buddies as the three of them left the airport. "Did you do something to embarrass Japan, or did you break the law and get booted out of the US by force?"

"Har har har," Haitani said sarcastically. "Actually, I'm here to focus on my studies. My father wants me to at least _try_ to get into a good Japanese school, like Tokyo U, and there's no better place to prepare for that than Japan itself, so…"

"And I'm here for the girls," Shirai said. "American girls are all well and good, but I think it's time for me to settle down with the girls of my own race for once."

That was a surprising explanation. Keitaro knew that Shirai was a big-time partier, and rather promiscuous too, but to make major life decisions like this on the basis of fun and sex—

"Nah, just kidding," Shirai said. "I'm here to study, too. The girls will… have to wait until after I get into Tokyo U."

"Very funny," Keitaro said. "Anyway, let's grab a cab and head back to my place to talk. It feels like forever since I've seen you guys—and wait until you see my grandmother's house."

* * *

Although Keitaro was tall at almost exactly six feet in height, Haitani was awkwardly tall at several inches more than that. He was lanky, too; not exactly muscular but certainly not fat, but then again he wasn't exactly skin and bone, either. On the other hand, Shirai had a big belly, to be sure, but he had big biceps and dressed to impress, and perhaps that was why he'd always been quite lucky with the ladies.

Together, with Keitaro, they were a rather odd group—but you wouldn't know it, judging from the way they exchanged banter and serious conversation in quick succession without pause or break in conversation. It had been some months since Keitaro had been in the US, so, in a sense, this was a reunion—and, perhaps, that called for a celebration.

"I've been around here to party more than a couple times," Shirai announced, when the conversation took that turn. "I—"

"You've been _everywhere_ to party more than a couple times," Haitani interjected.

"Yeah, well, I—funny—nah, but I know where to get good drinks for low prices," Shirai continued. "And I—"

"—know where to get good girls for low prices too?"

"Well, no, I—yes—again, very funny, Haitani," Shirai said.

"Anyway, we really should celebrate," Shirai said seriously. "I'm going to try to focus on studying really hard in the next couple months—that means, no distractions for me; no partying, no nothing. So, it would be best to get it all out of my system now, instead of later—right, guys?"

This time, Haitani had no clever retort. He simply nodded, thoughtfully, and rubbed his "beard"—nothing more than a sparse bit of thin hair on his chin that he'd been growing out for the past year and a half.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Haitani said after a moment. Keitaro, however, was still silent, so he nudged him on the knee.

"So? What do you think, Kei? Can we tempt you to have something to drink for once, or have you gone all the way and converted at last?"

"No, I—well, I mean—first off, no, I'm not exactly strictly religious," Keitaro said. "But… well, I guess it wouldn't hurt too much to… to have a Jack and Coke or something. B-but I'm underage," Keitaro suddenly protested, seeing the expressions of glee on his friends' faces.

"Not to worry, not to worry—so are we, after all," Shirai pointed out. "And besides, I _also_ know where to get hold of good quality fake IDs around here."

Keitaro winced. He didn't want to break the law, especially to do something so seemingly silly… but then again, Haitani and Shirai _were_ his best friends… and, well, it couldn't hurt to have just _one_ drink, or maybe two, not when the YI was still months off—

"Oh, yeah," Keitaro said, suddenly grinning. "That's one thing I have to tell you guys. I've been invited to the big Yokohama Invitational again this year… and this time, I accepted it."

Haitani and Shirai were both shocked into silence for a moment.

"No way," Haitani said, the first of the two of them to recover. "Hey, congratulations, man—and now, we _definitely_ have to celebrate, no question about it. Seriously, Kei, congratulations," he repeated. "That's a huge accomplishment for you. I mean, I'm not exactly a green biker myself, but you know that I'm at least… five plus years of hard training from getting invited to an important race, let alone the big YI itself. You're a phenom, dude."

Shirai nodded in silent assent. He paused—shook Keitaro's hand again—and then simply grinned and shook his head.

"Typical Kei," he said. "Pop into DC for a few weeks, vanish off the face of the Earth into the jungles of Pakistan, go to Japan all of a sudden, and _then_ reveal that he's going to compete in the big YI. You must be training your ass off, right?" Shirai asked. "Well, we'll party hard for one night, and then we'll let you get your nose back to the grindstone. Damn—I forgot, you're studying for Japanese national exams _while_ training for the big YI. You must have no free time at all!"

"Y-yeah," Keitaro agreed, somewhat tenuously. "Just… study and bike until I drop; that's my life, I guess…"

"Then taking one night off to relax can't be that big of a deal, right?"

Keitaro grinned and said that he supposed not. But for the rest of the trip home he was quiet, silent, contemplative.

One night off wasn't a big deal, if he was really pushing himself. But was he really pushing himself?

* * *

After dropping their luggage off at Hinata Inn, Shirai vanished to procure fake IDs while Keitaro and Shirai dressed and chatted in the downstairs living room. In the end, Keitaro was convinced—he'd have a drink or two, enough to enjoy himself but not more than that. Haitani and Shirai were likely to have much more than that, but both of them promised that they wouldn't take things too far.

No one seemed to be home, which was strange, but not entirely unwelcome. Keitaro hated the idea of having to explain to his tenants why not one guy, but three, was being allowed into the inn for any amount of time, so he hoped that their luck would hold out.

As it turned out, it did—no one returned home by the time Shirai got back with fake IDs and a list of places they could hit that night. In that time, Keitaro had coordinated with a local taxi service to be prepared to pick his two buddies up later that night, with their luggage, to take them to Yokohama, where they would each stay with relatives.

There was nothing left to do, it seemed, but to celebrate.

* * *

First, they had gone to a barbecue place. Then, they had gone to a karaoke place. Then, they had gone to a noodle bar, because a few rounds of barbecue hadn't been enough for Keitaro to pack on the calories he needed to do what he did.

He'd started out the night with a rum and coke, and then he'd had a very small glass of beer. Later, he'd been convinced to have some sake, but that was all.

So, from there on out, Keitaro wasn't drinking, but that didn't stop him from having fun.

Some girls joined the three friends, or wanted to, simply because Shirai had the sort of personality that attracted them like moths to the flame. In the end, though, it remained a guys' night only, and the trio were perfectly fine with that.

It was just after two am when they got home.

Keitaro was completely sober, albeit in a very good mood, though Haitani and Shirai were each somewhat tipsy. Overall, there was no doubt that the night had been a good one, and for his part, Keitaro was glad that he'd taken advantage of it. After all, all work and no play was no good.

It wasn't a good idea for Haitani and Shirai to climb the stairs leading up to Hinata Inn, not in the states they were in, so Keitaro volunteered to get their luggage. It would take several trips, but there was no avoiding.

Besides, he wanted a few moments to himself.

The night had been great—truly, it had. It was great to see old friends and to celebrate with them. Furthermore, it was great to have a chance to celebrate, something he hadn't done in months.

Apart from that, though… this really wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

Haitani and Shirai both held such high opinions of him that they'd taken it for granted that he wasn't wasting time. And he'd told them—what had he said?

"'Study and bike until I drop'," Keitaro said, scoffing to himself. "What a joke. I'm not pushing myself. I'm barely doing what's necessary to maintain myself. At this rate… I don't deserve to go to Tokyo U, or even finish the Yokohama Invitational."

For a few moments, he was depressed. He made his way to Haitani and Shirai's luggage—and then, with a sudden burst of power, he lifted two rather heavy bags onto his shoulders.

He'd been messing around for a few weeks now, it was true, but he could change that—he _would_ change that, starting tomorrow.

There'd be no more BS. He would bike and he would study harder than he ever had before in his life, and in his free time, he'd work on his relationships with Professor Nawaz and his tenants. He didn't have time for anything else. He wouldn't waste endless hours on Facebook and mountain biking websites, when he knew, deep down, that he was only doing such things to avoid doing things that were more interesting in the long term but less interesting in the short term.

He'd push himself. He wouldn't complete his workouts—he'd run them at top speed, top strength, top form, 100% of the time, and when he was finished, he'd do them some more.

It wasn't going to be easy, and, he had no doubts that at times it wouldn't be much fun, either… but that was what Sundays were for. He'd give himself a day off a week, but that was all. The rest of the time, he'd have to get down to business.

Somehow, while having these thoughts, Keitaro had brought Haitani and Shirai half of their luggage. He sprinted back up the stairs to get the other bags, but when he got into the Hinata Inn living room, he found himself face to face with Kitsune.

"There you are," she said, almost exasperated. "Where were you all evening, Kei?" she asked. "We were getting worried about you."

"Oh, I was just out with some friends," he said casually, but as he ought to have expected, that statement led only to more questions.

"Friends?" Kitsune asked. "Are they from around here?"

Keitaro shook his head. "They're from DC. Their parents work with the embassy, too. They just came to Japan to study… they're actually trying to get into Tokyo U, too."

"Wow," Kitsune said. "They seem like pretty cool guys… say, what're you doing, Kei?"

"They're waiting outside," Keitaro said, starting to lift the second half of his friends' bags. "I'm just taking their stuff down to the them."

"Oh, well, then, let me join ya," Kitsune offered, and before she could be stopped, she'd put a large duffel bag over her shoulder.

"I guess it was pretty smart of you to sort of keep them on the downlow about Hinata Inn being, you know, a girls' dorm. Come to think of it… if they'd even been in here, Naru and Motoko would both go postal, probably."

Keitaro found himself nodding rapidly. "I'm glad you guys weren't at home when we got here," he said. "Come to think of it… I'd have introduced you, Kitsune, since you're sane—no offense to anyone else, but that's just how it is," Keitaro grinned. "What were you up to all day?"

"Writing and working out," Kitsune said simply. "Did my job stuff in the morning, then I did some stretching, and then I hit the gym for the rest of the day. Nothing too heavy… I just want to build up some muscle before I start hitting the pool seriously again."

That shut Keitaro up, though Kitsune didn't know why. She was everything he ought to be—serious and focused. True, she'd only been like that for one day so far, but in one day, she'd gone from being a somewhat alcoholic slacker to being… well, someone who Keitaro, himself no stranger to hard work and dedication, could look up to.

They made the walk down the stairs leading to Hinata Inn from the street in relative silence. At the bottom, Haitani and Shirai waited for them, talking and laughing with one another about something or the other. As they drew closer, they were noticed—and as they drew closer still, Haitani and Shirai could see that Keitaro's companion was a girl.

Not just any girl, but a rather attractive one at that. Kitsune wasn't dressed to impress by a long shot, but she was a very late sleeper, so she'd just changed into what she used as pajamas. These were short shorts and a tank top—black and white respectively—and on most girls, they looked okay, or perhaps even shabby. But Kitsune somehow made them look good, very good; her feminine curves were significant enough that from the moment Keitaro saw her dressed like that he had to concentrate to look at her eyes.

Needless to say, by the time they were within earshot, Haitani and Shirai had stopped talking quite so much and seemed to have each spent a few moments finger-straightening their hair and adjusting their clothes. When they really were quite close, Haitani shot Keitaro a look which said, quite simply, "Hot damn, who's she?"

"Haitani, Shirai, this is Kitsune," Keitaro said, once they were close enough. He put down the bags he'd carried not far from his two buddies, and stood up straight afterwards. "She's my roommate."

"It's nice to meet you," Haitani said, rather smoothly. It was clear that he was more than a little interested in Kitsune—and why not? It was all he could do to not drool and walk around her in circles, running his eyes up and down every inch of her body.

On the other hand, Shirai seemed to be confused, or wary. His brow was furrowed, and the casual laughing, joking mood he'd been in until then was nowhere to be seen.

Kitsune seemed to be doing her best to avoid looking at him. She shook Haitani's hand and gave him a smile, but didn't look at Shirai for more than a moment. Soon, she wasn't even looking at Haitani—she was looking at the ground and blushing marvelously.

Haitani took that as a rejection, so, somewhat defeated, he stepped back and nudged Shirai's arm with an elbow.

"Yo—aren't you going to say hello to Keitaro's friend?" he asked.

Shirai just grinned, though, and slowly looked from Keitaro to Kitsune and back.

"Nah, we've been acquainted in the past," he said coolly. "Very well acquainted, in fact."

"Oh, really? That's great! What a small world we live in," Keitaro said. He clearly didn't understand Shirai's implication at all, or that Kitsune might have been avoiding looking at him for a reason, because he just grinned and continued.

"Hey, did you know—Kitsune was actually a really good swimmer back in highschool," Keitaro said. "And she's actually going back into training for a big competition soon. Can you believe it?"

"No way," Haitani said, duly impressed, as Shirai looked up at Kitsune, more confused than ever and no longer grinning in a smug, knowing manner. "With a build like that…? You don't look like a swimmer to me at all, Kitsune-san."

Feeling slightly less embarrassed—though not enough to look at Shirai—Kitsune looked up and smiled at Haitani for a moment.

"Well… I've always been a natural," she admitted, as Haitani thought to himself, _"Wow—all natural?"_

"It's just… I've been sort of, uhm, busy, for the past few years, so… but now I'm getting back into," she continued. "I think I'll be able to get back to where I was pretty soon. In fact, I'm getting there pretty quickly already."

"Yeah, you should see her," Keitaro said. "She can swim circles around anyone I know."

"See Kitsune-san swim—definitely!" Haitani said. "Uhm, I'm free Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday—actually, why don't you tell me the time and place, and I'll be sure to be there! What do you think?" he asked hopefully.

After a moment, Kitsune nodded. She still didn't look at Shirai—or did she, very briefly, just long enough to shake her head side to side once?

"Yeah, I'm up for it," she said. "It could definitely be fun."

It was just then that a car pulled onto the road, which was quite rare, considering how far it was from the main road and that it only led to Hinata Inn. As the four young people present turned to face it, they looked past the bright headlights and saw that it was a taxi.

"That's our ride," Shirai said. He lifted his bags up with his left hand, and then held his right hand out to Keitaro.

"It was great to see you again, man. I'll be in touch—maybe we can study together sometimes. Anyway… look out for yourself, alright, Kei?" he asked.

He looked into Keitaro's eyes rather seriously then, and although Keitaro didn't understand why he nodded seriously to respond, before shaking Shirai's hand—and then Haitani's.

A moment later, the two still-buzzed friends were in the taxi and on their way out of Hinata Springs. Keitaro waved goodbye to them, but on the other hand, Kitsune just seemed relieved that they were gone.

Or, more accurately, that _he_ was.

"Did you see that babe?" Haitani practically moaned. "That short, bobbed hair, those wide hips, that flat belly, and that chest—and she's natural! All, 100%, natural!"

"Oh, yeah," Shirai said. "She's all natural, all right."

"I can't believe Keitaro gets to live with a chick like that," Haitani continued. "They don't make girls like that in DC, do they? If I knew that Japanese girls were like that, then I'd have come here a long time ago!"

"Not all Japanese girls are like that," Shirai said, "but Kitsune is, that's for sure. She's a real vixen, isn't she?"

"Absolutely," Haitani said. "Gosh, I wonder what she's like in be—"

"Active, enthusiastic, and very vocal," Shirai said coolly.

"Perfect! Absolutely perfect!" Haitani practically crooned—and then he realized something.

And then he looked at Shirai.

"Hey—how do you know all this stuff about Kitsune?" he asked. "And—what do you mean, you were acquainted with her in the past?"

Shirai just looked at Haitani until comprehension dawned on his face.

"Oh. So, she's _that_ kind of a girl."

"Yeah," Shirai scoffed. "She was really, well, _open_ about those kinds of things. It was kind of too much, actually. But, you know, when you're drunk, and a hormone-ravaged young guy, one thing leads to another; and, well, you know the old saying. 'It's not gay if it's in a three-way.'"

Haitani pulled a face.

"Damn, I didn't know you went that way!" he commented.

"I don't," Shirai said, though he looked uncomfortable. "It's just, well, in _that_ kind of… of an _act_, things can happen that normally wouldn't, so… hey, you're in no position to criticize me. I had sex, so it doesn't matter," he said defensively, but Haitani just laughed.

"I'm not judging you," he said. "I know I'd hit that in a second if I got a chance, even if she is, well… you know. I'd just be sure to wrap up first," he said, and Shirai nodded vigorously.

A moment passed. The taxi driver had long since closed off the back seats; the last thing he wanted to hear was such trashy conversation from two young, half-drunk young men (who got it far, far more often than he was likely to these days).

"The thing is," Haitani said, looking out the window at the passing cityscape, "she kind of seems to be interested in Keitaro. I think… he _probably_ wants to be friends with her, but you know Kei—he wouldn't know that a girl likes him unless she were to _tell_ him," he said. "I think… even being friends with that kind of girl would be bad for him. Really bad—especially now, when he's studying and practicing for the Yokohama Invitational."

"That's the problem," Shirai said. "I wanted to tell him that—I'd tell him about Kitsune right now, in fact, but… I dunno, man. If what he said is true, and she's taking something seriously again, then… well, maybe she's changed."

He shrugged.

"She has to have changed, at least a little bit. You _don't_ live a lifestyle like what she did for very long."

"Big words," Haitani said dryly. "You drink, party, and sleep around all the time."

Shirai just shrugged.

"Sometimes I do," he said. "But not every night, and it doesn't stop me from doing other things from my life. Besides, I might drink—I might even smoke a little pot and cigarettes from time to time, but that's it. With Kitsune… that wasn't enough."

Haitani had nothing to say to that.

"Everyone can change, though," Shirai said. "And you saw how she acted around me—she wouldn't look at me. I'm thinking… I'm part of a phase of her life that she wants to leave behind. I'm not saying she's 100% on the straight and narrow these days, but on the other hand… if she's serious about swimming again, and if she makes enough money to live by herself… well, then, she's doing well enough, isn't she?"

"I guess so," Haitani allowed. "But I dunno. I think you really should tell Keitaro."

Shirai thought for a moment. Then, he shook his head.

"Not at the moment," he said. "Keitaro's all alone here—he's been all alone in Japan for weeks, and even though we're here now, we live a good… one and a half, two hours from him. We're not going to be able to hang out much, and a guy needs friends. Besides that, Keitaro has _no_ love life," Shirai said. "He never has. He might not see Kitsune like that right now, but in the future, I know he will. And I don't want to ruin that for him. If Kitsune doesn't tell him about who she used to be eventually, or if she starts to get back into that lifestyle… then we'll have to let him know," Shirai said.

"Until then, though, let's just… take a step back, and see what happens."

"I'm guessing that means she's off-limits for me?" Haitani said.

Shirai nodded.

"Oh well. Bros before hoes and all," Haitani said. "I'll live. Besides, I'm sure she has a… sister, or a friend, or something! Preferably one with low standards, right?"

He looked at Shirai hopefully, but Shirai just laughed.

"Not low enough, I'm afraid."

* * *

"Hey there, Keitaro. I haven't seen you in the past few days. How've you been?"

"Busy, Haruka-san. What with housework and studying and biking, I haven't had a minute to myself recently."

Keitaro made his way into his cousin's tea shop and had a seat at a table not far from the counter. It was an off-hour, so no one was there, and Haruka's only responsibilities included cleaning and preparing for the rush that was sure to come in an hour or so.

"So you've been keeping busy… that's good."

"You don't know the half of it," Keitaro said. "I'd never have guessed that a few Japanese girls could be so messy."

Haruka just grinned and poured a cup of tea for her young relative. He accepted it with a smile of thanks, and then looked out the window at the town below the shop.

It was a little windy that day, and that was good. It would make biking extra challenging, and although he'd already done a few miles in the expanse of land behind Hinata Inn that day, he wanted to do at least twenty more before he called it quits.

"How are you getting along with them?" Haruka asked.

"Fine, fine," Keitaro said. "Kaolla doesn't hesitate to shoot at me with her mechanical army, but at least she patches me up afterwards. And Motoko doesn't seem to be out for my blood anymore, so that's good. Shinobu is… well, you know how she is. Extremely polite and caring, but one word from me has her beet-red."

He took a sip of tea.

And then he said nothing.

"Well?" Haruka prompted. "What about Kitsune and Naru?"

It was a moment before Keitaro answered.

"Kitsune is… very nice to me. She always says hello and stops in my room to chat. It used to be Shinobu who would sometimes bring me snacks and stuff, but now Kitsune does—and she makes them, too. I can tell she does, because they're not as good as Shinobu's—but don't tell her I said that!"

Haruka grinned, though she promised nothing.

"Anyway, she swims a lot these days. Sometimes I join her. Sometimes I run with her, too. She's getting really, _really_ good," Keitaro said. "I think… son of a bitch, she might actually win the bet."

Haruka had heard about the bet that Keitaro had made with Kitsune, albeit several days after everyone else had. She was as surprised as anyone when it had become clear that Kitsune had decided to give up drinking, and had actually stuck to the pact, and now that Keitaro admitted that she might actually win the bet altogether…

"You're doing a lot of good for her," Haruka said. "By making her give up drinking and focus on something so challenging like that… that was very smart of you. How long did you plan it for?" she asked.

Keitaro just blinked, confused, and shook his head.

"Plan for it? I'm not smart enough to do that. I was just trying to make a bet I could easily win," he said, and Haruka had no idea if he was being truthful or not.

"Anyway, what about Naru?" she asked.

It was another moment before Keitaro answered.

"Naru is… a good study companion," he said. "She's very smart and polite, and I have no complaints about her. On the other hand, if we pass in the hallway, she'll barely raise her head to me, and in class she ignores me completely. It's as if she… hates me, but she doesn't want to show it."

He sighed.

"It probably has to do with how we met. I need to make it up to her, somehow… I need to think about how to make it up to her," he said.

A moment passed.

"So, what're you up to now?" Haruka said. "Or are you just planning to sit here for a few hours and drink my tea?"

"Yes, actually," Keitaro said seriously. "But I won't be alone. One of my cram school teachers is coming over soon—and he's a professor at Tokyo U. He's Professor Nawaz… he says he's been around here a few times. Maybe you know him? Gray hair, suit, tan complexion, average height…"

Haruka nodded, feigning disinterest, though she was actually quite impressed that her cousin was making such good contacts so quickly.

"I've seen him," she said. "So, he's Pakistani… and you're Pakistani… I guess it'll be masala chai, then?"

Keitaro nodded. "If it's not too much trouble," he said. "Actually, I'm surprised that you have something so exotic here. I thought that this was just an average, everyday Japanese tea shop."

"Believe it or not, Keitaro, I take my job seriously," Haruka said flatly. "I have tea from all over the world, and, for example, I certainly don't use bags, not even for masala chai. Yours will be made with Assam black, sweetened with coconut sugar; whole milk will be added afterwards, and then I'll weigh, crush, and steep cardamom, ginger, cinnamon, star anise, fennel seeds, and cloves later. I hope it'll be up to scratch."

"Me too," Keitaro said distantly, clearly not realizing how badly he'd just insulted Haruka. "I don't want a conversation with a Tokyo U professor to be spoiled by bad tea."

Fortunately, he was saved from a rather well-deserved beating by the professor's timely entrance. As always, Nawaz was wearing a suit, and even though it was somewhat chilly that day, he wiped his face with a handkerchief before approaching Keitaro.

The two shook hands and sat down. And, almost immediately, they began to chat as if they were old friends on some street café in Islamabad.

"I think you'll fit in very well at Tokyo University," he said. "You're a pretty sharp-minded kid, and if you can do well on the tests, I'm sure you'll pass the interviews with flying colors. I know that because you're talking to me here and now without sweating bullets—that's not something every student can do."

Keitaro just laughed.

"There's no sense in taking things that seriously," he said, in Urdu rather than English. "I always try to take things seriously, but at the same time, not too seriously. Otherwise, I really would be sweating bullets."

"That's very rare for a Japanese," Nawaz said. "Or South Asian. I've interviewed many Indian kids over the years. Maybe it's because they can guess what my home country is, but half the time they just clam up and run out of the room."

"Is it the same with Pakistani students?" Keitaro asked.

"At first, yes," Nawaz replied. He took a sip of his tea—and seemed surprised how good it was, even for the standards he was used to in that shop. "Then, they ask me where I'm from, and I tell them, and they relax, thinking that sharing a home country is enough to get me to ignore that they have poor grades, or poor social skills, or don't do anything outside of school.

"What I don't understand is why they think I'll differentiate between Pakistani and Indian," Nawaz said. "For me, there's no difference between India and Pakistan. True, my home town is Islamabad, but my parents were Muhajirs," he said. "Their families came from Punjab, Kashmir, Gujurat. And before 1947, the whole area was one country. So, Pakistani history was Indian history, and vice versa. Little political differences don't change that in my eyes."

Keitaro found himself nodded.

"Back at home, it was popular for kids to say this and that about India," he said. "But my father worked with the India consulate in Islamabad a lot, and I met some Indian kids from time to time. They really weren't different from the rest of us at all."

"Because they're not different," Nawaz said abruptly. "If you put Indians with Pakistanis—and add in Bangladeshis and Sri Lankans while you're at it—they won't be able to tell the difference from one another and will get along like brothers. I know this for a fact, because that's how it is in Britain and America."

He sighed.

"Anyway, enough politics… it's too tiring to talk about such things at length," he said, and Keitaro gratefully nodded.

"So, tell me, my boy—what are you interested in studying?"

Keitaro thought for a long moment before answering.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I mean, my father's shown me what he does, and that's interesting. On the other hand, I think I have a very mathematically-oriented mind… and it's also true that I like computers. So, maybe I'll be an engineer… but then again, I wouldn't mind studying law, or foreign relations."

"Why not double major?" Nawaz asked.

Keitaro paused. He'd never really considered that, but now that he thought of it… well, the option _was_ on the table, so…

"I'm not sure, Professor," he said hesitantly. "It would a lot of work… and I want to keep biking through college, so it might be too much."

"Don't worry about it," Nawaz said. "If you double major, you can get extra time to study without penalty—and if you keep up with biking, then there'll be scholarships, and you won't have to worry about expenses."

"Well, in that case, I'll definitely look into it," Keitaro said. "But first, I have to get into Tokyo U in the first place."

Nawaz laughed for a moment.

"There is that slight detail to iron out, isn't there?"

The conversation continued for some time afterward, and when Professor Nawaz finally left, Keitaro was certain he'd forged the beginning of a very important, very profitable relationship between the two of them. That was satisfying, and more satisfying still was the fact that he hadn't skipped a workout or a study session in a week—and that day wasn't going to break the trend.

He hit the trails immediately after the Professor left. Then, he showered, and then he studied until it was time for dinner.

As had become his custom, he sat next to Kitsune and across from Naru. The former was polite to him and the latter less so, but the whole while, Keitaro found that he was surprisingly happy, hopeful, and interested in confronting the future with open arms.

* * *

(Well, here you are, just over a year after I posted up the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed things and are prepared to give me your reactions to the piece so far, and your ideas for future chapters. I have a few plans, but nothing is set in stone, and I'm looking for input from anyone and everyone.

See you next chapter.)


	6. Chapter 6

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Six

* * *

Keitaro got up extra early that day. It wasn't that he had any particular reason to; he just woke up a little early and felt no desire to go back to sleep, so he stayed awake.

The inn was in good order, and rent for that month had already been collected. He'd have to clean the spring area within a few days, but for now, the only real, pressing responsibility he had was to restock the kitchen. There was plenty of rice and other staples in the pantry, of course, but there wasn't a lot of meat or vegetables left by that point.

After a quick shower, just to refresh himself, Keitaro allowed himself a few moments to dress, check his emails and such, and then go downstairs. It looked like it was going to be rather hot that day, but that was just fine by him—he enjoyed training, and living, in a variety of climates.

Since it was still so early when he got downstairs, he decided to do Shinobu a favor and make breakfast instead of her. It was true that the inn's residents seemed to prefer Japanese food, but could anyone really say no, for example, to what Keitaro had in mind?

First, he boiled a few eggs, just long enough that their yolks would be firm but not overcooked. Then, he toasted some bread and cut up mangoes (a good deal in a nearby grocery store had led him to pick up a few crates some days ago—and there was still one left even after Su had gotten to them).

Then, he prepared some tea and milk, and then, he set out jam, almonds, and a bunch of bananas.

It wasn't anything complicated or ornate, but on the other hand, it was all fresh, nutritious, and diverse to boot. If he'd had more time, Keitaro thought, he might have made French toast, but perhaps that was too elaborate and he'd end up burning the kitchen down if he tried.

Just a few moments later, Shinobu made her way downstairs, as chipper and prepared for the day as ever. Needless to say that she was quite surprised to see that her chores had already been accomplished, and that, furthermore, Keitaro was doing a quick warm-up—before even eating.

"_Ohayo_, Shinobu-chan," Keitaro said, as he stood up from the floor and washed his hands. He'd been doing pushups—fifty of them to be precise—and even as Shinobu looked on he started to do unweighted squats, silently counting off to himself as he did.

"_O-ohayo_, sempai," she replied somewhat timidly. "Uhm, thanks for making breakfast… it looks delicious."

That earned a smile from him, and a moment later, after he was finished working out, he cracked his neck and pulled out a chair for her.

"Thanks," he said. "But it's really nothing special. Come on, sit down and let's have a bite together. It's actually been some time since we've spoken—so, tell me, how are things, Shinobu-chan?"

She was blushing by this point, and it was all she could do to sit down calmly and watch as Keitaro poured them tea, milk, and set out plates and utensils for the two of them.

"Uh-uhm… well, school's going pretty well; at least I think it is… a-and, uhm, I'm starting up English classes soon, s-so I'll be pretty busy…"

"That's good," Keitaro said. "I think I've heard you speak English a few times in the past… I'm sure it won't be long before you're as fluent as a native-born speaker."

"Thanks, _sempai_," Shinobu said. She smiled at him sincerely for a moment—for once, without blushing. "Come to think of it… your Japanese is very well. If-if I didn't know otherwise, I'd say you're a native speaker, too."

"Well, I am, in a way," Keitaro said. "At home, we spoke Japanese a lot. And English," he said. "It's true that I did have to try very hard to learn written Japanese, but I've grown up speaking it. I'm surprised I don't have an accent, though," he admitted. "Are you sure I'm that fluent?"

Shinobu nodded.

"Anyway," Keitaro said a moment later, when it became clear that Shinobu's nerves were starting to make it too hard for her to continue a conversation, "if you ever need any help learning English from me, don't hesitate to ask."

"O-okay, _sempai_," Shinobu said. She wished she could say more—she really did—but even as Keitaro looked at her, she found herself flushing and looking away.

It was useless to fantasize about him, she thought to herself. He was older than she was, smart, talented, and a good person to boot. So, even if it wasn't for Kitsune, Shinobu would never have had a chance in Hell with him.

* * *

Keitaro had started training that day with all of protective gear on, and, of course, below that he wore all of his clothes.

Soon, though, as the temperature rose, it began to grow unbearable hot with all that on. So, in time, Keitaro accepted the greater risk of injury and took off most of his protective gear. He retained his helmet, elbow pads and gloves, but apart from those, he was bare-chested.

That kept him a bit cooler. And that added comfort, he thought, was worth the increased risk of getting lacerated or breaking a bone.

Under the protective visor of his helmet, Keitaro wore sunglasses. Even in the darkest, thickest parts of the wilderness behind Hinata Inn, it was quite bright out, so these were entirely necessary. Without them, he'd have to squint and that would decrease his reaction time such that he was sure to crash.

But Keitaro didn't crash. He pedaled faster and faster, and he didn't crash. He cut his way up, down, and across slopes, and on several occasions, he brushed so close past trees that the hair on his arms was sliced off.

But he didn't crash.

He'd been interested in biking from a young age, and since before he had been a teenager, he had started to take the sport seriously. And so, just then, four hours into his training, he was, for all intents and purposes, invincible.

Godlike, even.

Still, after such a long period of sustained physical activity, Keitaro started to get a bit tired. It was time for a break, and so he slowed down, a bit, and drew to a halt in a distant corner of his grandmother's property.

His grandmother…

It had been a long time since he'd seen her—years, in fact. She used to call him every few months or so, but now, he'd been in Japan for some time, and he hadn't heard a word from her. For that matter, his parents hadn't either, nor had Haruka. The only reason why they weren't getting extremely worried about her was that now and then Haruka would receive a postcard detailing the elder Urashima's latest escapades.

She said that she was happy and in good health. She also said that she wouldn't be back for a while, so that it there was no reason to worry about her, or to even think about her very much.

How such an old lady managed to skip around the globe like that, all by herself… it made Keitaro shake his head even as he got off his bike and sat down near a small, rapidly-moving creek. A moment later, he had his helmet off and was panting softly, looking up at the Sun.

He didn't know why she'd given him ownership of Hinata Inn. _No one_ knew why she'd given him ownership of Hinata Inn, particularly with such odd constraints. What was her motive, what was her goal? Was it simply that she wanted to continue a longstanding family tradition and see that ownership of her assets went down to the first son of her first son?

That explanation made sense, sort of, but somehow Keitaro knew that something else was at play. Something significant.

He just didn't know what it was.

After a moment of fruitless pondering, Keitaro reached into the creek to fill his hands with water. He then splashed it on his face, cleaning himself of a small amount of dirt and a large amount of sweat, before sitting back once again.

The humidity that day wasn't high, but it was quite sunny and there was no wind at all, so even sitting still for a few moments was unpleasant—or, rather, it would have been if Keitaro hadn't been completing a nearly insane workout on his bicycle just moments before. As it was, though, Keitaro found those few moments of rest comforting, though even he had to acknowledge how hot they were.

He flicked a speck of dirt off of his shoes and reflected to himself just how good life was at the moment. The last weekend, he'd gone to a noodle bar with Haitani and Shirai, and two days ago he'd joined Kitsune at the pool for a workout that had put him through his paces. Yesterday, he'd only done a light workout in order to focus on studying… and today, after he was finished biking for another few hours, he'd shower again, have a huge meal, and then head off for cram school.

He was busy, there was no doubt about it, but he found that he enjoyed being so busy. He was never bored, for one thing, and for another he was able to feel that he was accomplishing something. At the very least, he was bettering himself, and so the guilt that he sometimes felt just a few weeks ago for perhaps not realizing himself fully was now an emotion completely foreign to him.

The sound of someone walking through the forest aroused Keitaro from his thoughts. He looked up and was surprised to see Naru, of all people, approaching him, carrying a large water bottle and dressed… in a way that he was not accustomed to seeing her dressed.

It wasn't that she was showing too much skin, or at least more skin than the average Japanese or American girl was given to showing. But Keitaro had grown accustomed to never seeing skin between Naru's shoulders and knees, and apart from that, her dress around him often seemed to be baggy and covering. She barely even showed her arms around him—Hell, when they went to cram school, she tended to wear some sort of ill-fitting hoody she must have bought in high school.

Now, though, she was wearing a rather brief denim skirt and a black tanktop that made Keitaro remember the first words she'd said to him.

Well, it was true—she couldn't compare to Kitsune, but even if her breasts hadn't been getting bigger recently, they were more than big enough to—

Keitaro looked away and pretended to rub his nose so that Naru wouldn't see that it had started to bleed.

"Hey, Narusegawa," he said several moments later, when he felt a bit more in control of himself. He sat up straight and turned to face her, as she approached him from an effective tunnel through the trees and bushes. "What's up?"

"Not much," she replied, as she got to within a few yards of him and then sat down almost at his side. She'd done her hair into a ponytail—a practical style—but as Keitaro looked at her, he saw that she'd put on just enough makeup to accentuate her features.

She really was quite good-looking, he thought to himself. Certainly, looking at her face like that was pleasant, even before she held out the bottle of water she'd brought to him. It was so cold that atmospheric moisture was condensing on the outside and rolling off into large drops every few seconds.

"I just felt like going for a walk... I saw you practicing back here, and thought that you might get thirsty, so… here you go."

"Wow, thanks," Keitaro said, thinking to himself that it was very rare indeed for Naru to be so kind toward him. "That's very nice of you, Narusegawa."

He twisted the cap open—that was odd, the seal didn't make that distinctive _crack_ when it was broken. Still, Keitaro didn't hesitate before bringing it to his lips—it was ice cold and refreshing.

"Don't worry about it," Naru replied with a smile. "But don't get used to me bringing you water, either."

Naru meant for him to interpret that as a joke—because she was pretending to be joking, of course, when in actuality the last thing she wanted was for Keitaro to rely on her in any way. However, her tone was too cold and flat for her statement to be interpreted comically, so Keitaro just looked at her awkwardly for a moment.

"Err… I won't…?" he said after a moment.

Great, now Naru had to salvage the conversation fast before he just grew creeped out by her and left. She cleared her throat to give herself a few moments to think, and then drew her knees close to her chest. She then wrapped her arms around them, making herself appear smaller, weaker, and inherently more appealing to Keitaro.

"It's just… when you think about it, it's not really safe to work out so much without drinking any water," Naru pointed out. "Especially in weather like this. If you don't watch out, you'll get exhausted—and if you pass out back here, it might take us hours to find you." _"If we look at all, that is,"_ she added to herself.

"Well, I do drink water sometimes," Keitaro said. When Naru looked at him quizzically, he just pointed at the creek the two of them were sitting in front of.

She looked disgusted when he did that, but he just chuckled.

"I did my homework first," he said. "Environmental standards in Kanagawa are very high, and this is all fresh, pure water, straight from the mountains. There was a study done not far from here a year ago… the quality of running water more than meets the standards of bottled water."

He blinked, then, as a sudden wave of exhaustion had just come over him. That was odd—but it passed, a moment later, and so Keitaro just sat up a little straighter and realized that he was still shirtless.

That was embarrassing. But he didn't have his shirt—he'd left it some hundreds of yards away, near the entrance to the forest, so there was nothing he could do now. He just sat normally and took another sip from the water bottle Naru had given him.

"Well, when you put it like that, it's alright, I guess," Naru said. "But still… take care of yourself, alright, Kei-kun? Now's not the time to play with your health. We have a mock exam tonight, do you remember?"

Keitaro nodded. "Yeah, I remember," he said. "I'm planning to study a little before class… but first, I want to finish biking, I—"

He paused, then, blinking not once, but two and then three times.

Suddenly, he felt really out of it again. He felt… off-balance, almost dizzy, as if he'd pushed himself way, _way_ too hard. But he hadn't—had he? Sure, he'd been sweating and panting when he paused for a break, but he pushed himself that hard all the time without ever feeling like _this_.

"What's wrong?" Naru asked, concerned. She moved a little closer to him and stroked her hair a bit, so that a shock of it that had fallen onto her torso was neatly out of the way once again.

Keitaro looked at her, blearily, and it was a moment before he answered.

"I'm… tired," he said. "Maybe I… should take it easy for a while before starting to bike again."

"All right, Kei-kun," Naru said uncertainly, as Keitaro went for another sip of water—but his hand slipped and he spilled the bottle's contents all over himself.

"Wow, you're really out of it," Naru said. She smiled at him—Keitaro looked at her closely, but then he shook his head. He was just tired; there was nothing ominous about that smile of hers.

He set the now-empty bottle of water aside and got to his feet—slowly, uncertainly, teetering the whole way.

"I, uhm, I think I ought to call it quits for today, actually," he said. He made his way toward his bike—he almost fell, but at the last moment, he caught himself and rested his arm against a tree for balance.

"Maybe you should," Naru agreed. Now, she stood up and approached him.

"Here," she offered. "Why don't you let me walk your bike back to the inn? You look really tired, Kei-kun."

By this point, Keitaro was barely able to nod. His eyes were drooping and it was a wonder he was still on his feet, considering how tired he was—and it was so hot and stifling that he wanted to do nothing more than to sit down.

And so he did.

But that didn't stop Naru from taking his bike and heading back to Hinata Inn by herself.

A moment passed.

Two moments passed.

And just as the smile on Naru's face was starting to reach absolutely devilish proportions, she heard something behind her and saw Keitaro hobbling toward her as fast as he could.

"I'll take my bike, Naru-san," he said. He was practically panting, just from having made his way to Naru at that speed, but that didn't stop him from grinning at her awkwardly, even as he stopped to catch his breath.

"Sorry, it's just… I'm really paranoid about it. At home, even my own parents aren't allowed to touch it."

He composed himself, and, after a moment, stepped toward Naru, holding out his hands so that she could transfer control of the machine's handlebars to him. As she did, though, the expression on her face changed—just for a second—and Keitaro had to move fast to grab his bike before it fell to the ground.

"Sorry," Naru said automatically. "My, uhm, hands slipped, and I, uhm…"

Her voice trailed off, but Keitaro just smiled and waved his hand in his own way of apologizing. He was still clearly exhausted, but that didn't stop him from walking on his own two feet, resting his helmet on one handle.

"Actually," he said a moment later, as they started to walk side by side back to Hinata Inn, "if it's not too much trouble… I left my shirt and some of my gear just at the edge of the forest. I'd carry it myself, but I think at this point, a leaf could land on me and knock me over."

He laughed at that lame joke, but Naru certainly didn't. If he thought for a _second_ that she was going to carry his dirty, sweaty, disgusting shirt and protective gear back to the house—

"Sure, Kei-kun," she managed to say a moment later. "After all, what are friends for?"

"So, we are friends? Great," Keitaro said, before smiling at Naru in a way that anyone else would have called sincere.

She didn't reply. So, Keitaro began to hobble toward the inn, wondering why he'd gotten so tired—why he'd gotten so tired so suddenly for that matter, and why he hadn't realized that he had pushed himself too hard until just moments before he was on the verge of passing out.

Naru had left him to go and retrieve his clothes, and for a moment, Keitaro looked at her. Thoughts went through his mind—strange thoughts, impossible thoughts—and in the end, he paid them no mind. He just kept walking back to Hinata Inn.

He took a shower, barely, but by the time he was finished he was too worn out to do anything else at all. It took until the very last drop of energy within Keitaro to dress, and after that, he simply passed out into his bed.

* * *

Keitaro woke up perhaps four hours later with a mild headache, but apart from that, he felt alright. For a moment, he panicked, believing that he'd overslept and skipped that night's mock exam—but then he realized that he still had at least two hours to get in some last-minute cramming and maybe have a small meal before heading off to school.

So he dragged himself to his feet and made his way to his desk.

He wasn't feeling 100%-far from it—but he felt better than he had when he'd almost passed out in the forest. Still, he knew that the last thing he wanted to deal with that day was a headache of any magnitude, so he popped an Advil and then started to study. He didn't bother with focusing on math—he was confidence about his algebra, trigonometry, and the calculus topics that would be covered in that exam—instead, he pored over relative minutiae in history.

He tried to concentrate, but it took at least an hour for Keitaro's headache to subside. By then, stress and anxiety were making it hard to get into the studying mindset—but in the end, he managed it, and as such he got in a good hour or so of quality studying.

After that, though, it was time to prepare to head out.

Keitaro began to put his books and notes away, grumbling to himself about what a wonderful day he'd picked to push himself too far and get heat exhaustion or something, when he heard someone clearing her throat behind him.

"Oh… hello, Kitsune. What's up?"

"Not much, Kei. I just thought I'd say hello. I brought tea," she added, holding up a tray she'd been carrying. On it were two cups and a steaming china pot.

Immediately, Keitaro smiled.

"That's very thoughtful of you, Kitsune; thanks so much. Uhm, I have to get going to cram school soon… but I have about half an hour."

Something about the way she smiled at him then told him that she knew that he had time. She knew that he had probably just reached the end of studying, too, and would have spent the next half hour relaxing to approach the test with his mind at ease.

So, they sat apart from one another at a small, rather simple table Keitaro had set up in the corner of his room. His window was closed but the blinds were up, so the atmosphere was all at once bright but cool, and even though Keitaro hadn't exactly spent much time tidying himself up after his nap, he somehow looked better than most male models could hope to.

Kitsune began to pour tea for both of them. As she did, Keitaro noticed that she had brought more than just tea—she had brought nutrition bars, a number of them, in fact.

"Naru told me about your little mishap in the forest," she said. "I knew you wouldn't have time to eat before cram school, and since you have an exam today, you won't be able to grab a snack between classes. These should hold you over… but when you get home, go ahead and overload. We'll save a lot from dinner for you."

Most people would have said something like, "Yes, _Mom_," in response to something like that, but Keitaro simply nodded meekly. He knew that Kitsune was probably right, and beyond that, it was pretty clear to him that she had only his interests at heart.

"You're right, Kitsune," Keitaro said a moment later. He had finished pouring their tea, and as such he put the pot down and brought his cup to his lips. "Thanks again for the tea."

"Don't worry about it," she replied with a smile. She took a sip of tea, and then looked at Keitaro, somewhat concerned.

"You must have pushed yourself really hard out there today, eh, big guy?" she asked.

"I guess so," Keitaro replied, though he didn't look very certain of himself. "It's weird… I was taking a break, and I _felt_ okay, but then… I was just talking to Naru, and all of a sudden…" he shrugged. "I guess I sort of lost track of my limits."

"I'll say," Kitsune agreed. "Next time… actually, from now on, why don't you keep your phone on you when you go biking? That way, if you do get into real trouble, you'll be able to call one of us, at least."

It was an entirely reasonable proposition, but Keitaro shook his head, wincing a bit for some reason.

"Uhm, carrying a phone is a big hassle when you're riding seriously, Kitsune," he said. He then nodded, as if he was convincing himself, and continued. "They bounce all over the place if you carry them in your pockets, and if you wear them on your belt, or your arm, they really throw off your balance. Overall, it's a big pain, and really unnecessary. I promise I'll be more careful in the future," he said, but Kitsune wasn't convinced.

"We'll get a little attachment so that you can carry it on your bike," she said. "Right on the frame, out of the way, where you won't even notice it."

Keitaro looked at her with a pained expression on his face.

"Why not?" she asked. "What's wrong with that?"

He thought for a moment before answering.

"It's just… for me, biking is all about freedom," Keitaro said. "It's about affirming life, and the power of your own body and spirit. And your bike itself," he admitted. "But at the same time, it's also about independence. Half of the thrill is the risk of getting hurt, in a way."

He looked away when he said that. He didn't expect Kitsune to understand that—he didn't expect _anyone_ to understand that. His parents didn't understand it and most of his friends didn't; the only ones who did participated in extreme sports or similar activities themselves.

And yet, after looking at him for a moment, Kitsune was nodding. Impossibly, she was nodding.

"I guess that makes sense," she said. "It's about… looking death in the eye, and making it blink, right?"

Keitaro nodded.

"On the other hand, if you ever do get hurt, or too tired… well, would you rather struggle to crawl back to Hinata Inn, or just pray? Because without a phone, those are pretty much your only two options."

She paused, to let that sink in for a moment.

"I'm not saying that you should quit biking. Hell, I'm not even saying to not push yourself as hard," she said. "But at the same time, just carrying a phone is a pretty easy, convenient way to mitigate your risks. I mean—let's put it like this," Kitsune said. "You do wear a helmet, right? Well… why not look at a cell phone in the same light? It's just a precaution… not something to spoil your fun, right?"

Keitaro couldn't disagree with that logic. After a moment, though, he had to stifle a scoff.

"What?" Kitsune asked, amused.

"You remind me of my mother," he said. "She always nags me about these kinds of things. Actually, I used to bike without protective gear, except for a helmet—but she made me get it, and wear it, and the first day I wore it, I got into a crash—a bad crash," Keitaro said. "I got the wind knocked out of me bigtime and had to go to the ER. I was back home the same night, but without that chest protector, I'd have broken a few ribs… or worse, maybe," he said. "Maybe a lot worse."

Kitsune nodded slowly.

"Well, your mom makes you take precautions like that because she cares about you."

He looked up when she said that, and for a moment, they locked eyes. Kitsune tried to make the implication behind her words clear, but somehow, Keitaro missed it. He just smiled, and, after a moment, turned away.

For a moment, Kitsune was… almost miffed. She wasn't hurt—certainly, she wasn't hurt—but she was… _almost_ frustrated. She'd known from the beginning that Keitaro was going to be a tough nut to crack, but this was something she couldn't have expected. He didn't respond well to overt displays of affection; she'd learned that lesson well early on. But he wasn't responding to subtleties, either.

It looked like the only way to go about things, then, was the long way. She'd have to _earn_ his affection before she could use it—not against him, certainly, but to her advantage. To that end, she'd have to appeal to him, first as a friend, then a close friend, and then, in time, more than that.

Kitsune was pretty sure that she was one of Keitaro's best friends these days. It was true that they weren't exactly emotionally intimate with one another, but Kitsune guessed that Keitaro was a relatively simple guy in that he didn't really have any personal issues or problems he needed to talk about. He was all about studying to get into Tokyo U and biking, and that was all.

That was very good for him, Kitsune reflected, and the woman who he found himself attracted to would be very lucky indeed. On the other hand, it made her job rather complicated and difficult.

For a moment, she felt somewhat guilty about what she was doing. And then she remembered that, quite simply, it didn't matter.

She'd use Keitaro until he passed out of her life. When that happened, it would be time for her to use someone else, and after that, it would be time for her to use still another person.

That was how her life would be. She was, after all, trapped by her childhood, her history; the events of the universe itself a thousand years ago had set up the preconditions that put her into the position she was in, and there was nothing she could do to change it. Certainly, feeling bad about her fate wasn't going to do anyone any good.

She had these thoughts over the span of a few seconds, and the whole while, she kept a smile on her face. It only faltered the slightest bit at Keitaro's next words.

"By the way, Kitsune," Keitaro began, innocently enough, "what do you think Narusegawa thinks about me?"

Kitsune strategically took a sip of tea before answering.

"Why?" she asked, innocently enough. "Did something happen between you two?"

"No, not really," Keitaro replied—but hesitantly. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and only answered a moment later.

"I mean… she's friendly to me, I guess, and I try to be nice to her, but… for some reason, I get the feeling that she really doesn't like me at all. It's almost like she hates me, but doesn't want to say so."

"Oh," Kitsune said. She sat up a little straighter and tugged at the sleeve of her shirt a bit, just so that Keitaro might notice the shapeliness of her body.

He didn't. Even as he looked at her, he looked right through her.

"Well, it could be that she still resents how you two, you know, met," Kitsune said, and Keitaro nodded a few times at that.

"That's what I thought, too," he said. "But she said that we should try to put it behind us… that day itself, I think. And if she still resents that, or maybe the fact that I'm here at all—in a girls' dorm—well, why wouldn't she just come out and say it?"

Kitsune didn't know how to answer that.

"I'll talk to her about it," she said finally. "Not tonight... but sometime soon, alright, Kei?"

He nodded and gave her a smile. "Thanks, Kitsune," he said. "Gosh, I really hope it's not about our, uhm, first meeting. I mean, if it is… then she's 100% justified in hating me."

He finished on a gloomy note, but Kitsune saw an opportunity to test him, just a little, to see how he might react to being forced to think about her as a woman, not a "just friend".

"Not really," Kitsune said. "After all, Kei… you didn't just meet _her_ in steamy conditions."

It took a moment for him to remember that, and when he did, he blushed. This, Kitsune expected, but she watched him carefully—and sure enough, for a second, just the tiniest sliver of a second, his eyes drifted below her neckline.

She smiled a bit more.

"Ahh, sorry about that, Kitsune," Keitaro replied, rubbing the back of his head apologetically. "I, uhm, slipped."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "I forgave you a long time ago, and besides—"

Oops. She hadn't meant to begin what would have turned into a rather explicit sexual comment. She hoped Keitaro would simply ignore that last comment, but he looked up, his expression unreadable.

"Besides, what, Kitsune?" he asked.

"Besides, we're friends," she said, after the slightest moment of hesitation. She smiled, and reached across the table to place her hand on Keitaro's.

He had rather large hands, she realized. Large and strong, yet lithe and toned from his lifestyle. In contrast, Kitsune's hands were much more feminine. They were petite and well-manicured, and pale—and they appeared even more pale against Keitaro's sun-kissed complexion.

For a moment, Kitsune was concerned that she'd moved too far, too fast. She began to draw her hand away, but Keitaro stopped her. In fact, for a moment, he actually held her hand.

And he didn't look embarrassed or ashamed to do it.

"In that case, I'm grateful for what how we met," Keitaro said.

Kitsune wasn't sure how she responded to that. But she didn't blush—she never blushed. She'd seen every trick in the book and she'd heard every flattering comment that a guy could think of, sincere in nature or not, and it didn't matter that Keitaro was tall, attractive, determined, talented, and on the path to succeed at everything he set his mind to. Kitsune did not blush, period.

* * *

Professor Nawaz was administering the test for Keitaro's class. His responsibilities were minimal; he just had to sit at the front of the classroom and make sure that no one was cheating. He also had to pass out the mock exams at the beginning of class, and, just then, that was what he was doing.

"You will have all class for this mock exam," he said. "Please use a standard pencil for multiple choice questions and a pen for short answers. We'll take a fifteen minute break halfway through… alright, I think that's all there is."

He handed the last exam in his hands to a student, looked around to see that everyone in the lecture hall had one, and sat down at his desk.

"You may begin."

Keitaro opened up the booklet and immediately started to work.

The first section was math—great. This was something he had always been confident with, and better yet, the first several questions were nothing more than multiplication problems. 938 times 349—Keitaro didn't know the answer to that off the top of his head and he certainly couldn't do it in his head, but on the other hand he had a pencil and paper. So, not ten seconds later, he had the answer—327362—and, better yet, it was in the list of possible answers.

One question down… hundreds to go.

The next half hour was stressful for Keitaro, to say the least. The Advil he'd taken earlier was still working, but just barely. It was likely to wear off within the next couple of hours, and when that happened, Keitaro would somehow have to tough out the test. For now, he felt fine, but the anticipation of pain to come was making it hard to concentrate.

With just a few questions left to go, he sat up, and, just for a few moments, he breathed deeply and emptied his mind of all thoughts.

Then he got back to the test and he didn't look up again until Professor Nawaz announced that it was time to take the break.

He was a generally stern man in class, although, of course, Keitaro knew that outside of class Professor Nawaz was a rather friend, decent man. Still, when he began to pass out chocolates during the break, everyone—including Keitaro—was surprised.

He offered no explanation for his actions, though Keitaro believed he understood them. Nawaz was trying to keep his students' spirits up, and while he was at it, they could use some energy too—so, chocolate was the best solution.

And it worked. Although Keitaro's headache was starting to come back, the little treat took the edge off it, and for this reason he was able to tackle the second half of the test in high spirits.

* * *

"So, Keitaro, how do you think you did?"

Naru asked this question in a friendly, innocent tone, as she and Keitaro waited for the bus that would take them back to Hinata Springs. Still, it was pretty clear to anyone watching that she was taking great interest in his answer—she was practically staring at him, as if to gauge his response for some reason.

"I think I did alright," Keitaro answered, a moment later. "The math section was easy, but… well, let's just say that I'm glad I did some last-minute cramming this afternoon."

He grinned at Naru, sheepishly. Their bus arrived, and after they boarded it, their conversation continued.

"How about you?" Keitaro asked. "You're one of the top students in our school… what did you think about this test?"

"Well, it wasn't very hard," Naru said. She was surprised that he had asked her such a question—it was as if he really cared. Then again, a sociopath like him no doubt knew precisely how to be so charming that there was no visible difference between his actions and the actions of someone who really did care.

"I mean, it wasn't easy," Naru went on, "but on the other hand, you'd have to be pretty stupid if you did badly on it—right, Kei-kun?"

Keitaro laughed and nodded, but rather awkwardly. This made Naru turn away so that he wouldn't see the cruelty of the smile on her face.

Naru went off to sleep almost immediately after they'd arrived at home, but Keitaro wasn't tired. Apart from that, he _had_ to eat, so after saying good night to Naru, he made his way into the kitchen.

Once he opened the refrigerator, he was happy to see that Kitsune had followed through on her promise. A rather large pot was waiting for him; it even had a Post-it note on it marked with his name.

As Keitaro took out his meal—a feast large enough to serve as several meals for most people—he reminded himself that he'd have to thank both Kitsune and Shinobu for being so thoughtful of him.

Come to think of it, both of them were really quite thoughtful of him. Keitaro believed that Shinobu was just that sort of person—caring, kind, compassionate—but what could explain Kitsune's behavior towards him?

It wasn't that he thought poorly of her—not at all. As he began to eat, Keitaro noted to himself that while Kitsune often pretended to not care about things very much—a la Haruka—it was pretty clear that she cared about her friends and peers, a lot. He could see it the way she looked at Naru when Naru seemed to be tired from studying too much, or when she asked Shinobu what had happened at school when the middle school came home and did her chores just a little too diligently.

But why was she so, well, _sweet_ to him?

Sure, they'd become friends, but now that he thought of it, Keitaro wasn't sure why. From the beginning, it had been Kitsune who had constantly tried to get close to him—even in recent weeks, it was rarely he who took the initiative to talk to her, or do anything else. Whenever they went to the pool, after all, it was she who invited him, not he who asked to tag along, and on the few occasions they grabbed a bite to eat on the way home afterwards, it was always as a result of her suggestion.

Apart from that, they didn't exactly have much in common.

Or did they?

Come to think of it, they actually weren't very different after all. Sure, Keitaro was a biker and Kitsune was a swimmer, but both of them had rather physically-oriented hobbies that occupied most of their time and energy. And while Keitaro was walking the path of a student, it wasn't like Kitsune was—or had ever been—a layabout. She had a job and made enough money to support herself and her interests, and what more could one ask of a person than that?

It was true that in the past, she did drink… a lot. Although she rarely reeked of alcohol as Keitaro knew true drunks did, he remembered smelling alcohol on her breath more often than not.

That disgusted him.

But now that Kitsune had given up drinking—at least for a few months—there really wasn't any reason to be so distant around her.

She was a good friend, after all.

As Keitaro ate, he found himself looking, repeatedly, at the note attached to the meal that had been reserved for him. He had recognized the handwriting the moment he'd seen it.

Kitsune had written it.

* * *

After cramming so much in the days leading up to the first mock-exam, Keitaro found that he'd overused his "study muscles", so to speak, and for that reason, he didn't study at all the next day. Instead, he made up for his poor performance the day before by biking for a full eight hours straight without extended breaks.

He didn't do any particularly high-energy maneuvers, true, but he almost always kept his feet moving.

But—largely due to Kitsune's insistence—he not only checked in at the inn every hour or so to drink water, but he got a cheap phone belt-clip from a nearby corner store and duct-taped it to his bike's frame. It wasn't a particularly elegant way to carry his phone, but it worked like a charm.

He finished biking by the middle of the afternoon, just as it started to get unpleasantly hot. After that, he went back to the inn, showered, and sat down at his computer.

He hadn't updated his Youtube account in quite some time, but he had gotten plenty of good footage in the past few weeks of himself biking through the wilderness behind Hinata Inn. So, he spent perhaps four hours chopping it up, editing it, and adding a few fancy effects, and then he uploaded it.

It wasn't anything fancy; in fact, it looked rather like what it was: a simple cut-and-paste job by someone who'd learned to use a pirated version of After Effects on the fly. On the other hand, it showed what Keitaro wanted it to show, focusing on his skill and what he was capable of, rather than embellishing his performance with trick shots or special effects.

He was therefore satisfied with his efforts, and made his way out of the room. He intended to go downstairs to (of course) get something to eat, but on the way he ran into Narusegawa—literally.

Fortunately, he didn't bowl her over, though he came quite close to. However, in the confusion, he did manage to touch her somewhere where he really ought not to have touched her.

"So sorry!" Keitaro stammered, backing away reflexively. He was shocked at what he'd done—he'd kept his clumsiness in check for the past few weeks, even to the point that he hoped it might be gone forever—but now, it seemed, it had struck him at the least opportune of times. He saw that Narusegawa was glaring at him, and he knew that he deserved it.

For a moment, she seemed on the verge of exploding, and so Keitaro braced himself. He fully expected to be punched or shoved right back into his room, but, shockingly… Naru seemed to calm down. Her fists were still clenched and her teeth were gritted, but she did seem to calm down.

"It's alright," she managed to say a second later. "It was an accident… right?"

She added that word as if it was a dare for Keitaro to say no.

"Of course it was," he replied, as if horrified at the possibility that he'd assault Naru in the way that he had. He really was a phenomenal actor, she had to admit to herself, because he was able to emulate panic almost perfectly.

But she wasn't such a bad actor herself. She calmed down—at least, she appeared to—but in reality, she was just swallowing her anger for the moment. There would be a time and a place to discharge it, but this wasn't it.

"Then… if it was an accident, and you're sorry… it's no big deal."

Saying those words helped Naru calm down—or, rather, emulate calm—even better. After a moment, she was even able to hand-straighten her hair and give Keitaro an only somewhat contrived smile.

"Just… try to be a little more careful in the future, okay, Kei-kun?"

Keitaro nodded, but somewhat reluctantly. It was as if he didn't expect the reaction he was getting at all, but Naru knew that it was all a front, all a lie. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Y-yeah," he stammered, a moment later. "I'm so sorry, Narusegawa. I must have slipped…"

He looked away from her, awkwardly, and then held out his hand, motioning for her to go down the stairs before him. She did, and he followed a moment later—just in case he slipped down the stairs.

Fortunately, that didn't happen. Naru made her way to the living room, presumably to watch TV or something, and Keitaro was making his way to the kitchen when an idea occurred to him.

He was now more certain than ever that Naru still harbored resentment to him; beyond that, her feelings were justified—doubly so, in fact, considering what had just happened between them. There could hardly be a less opportune time to do something like this, but on the other hand, no apology was better than a timely apology.

"S-say, Naru," Keitaro said, stammering just a little, "let me make it up to you. Why don't we go somewhere for dinner?"

He was looking at her back as he spoke, and as he finished, he could see her stiffening up. A moment passed, and Naru didn't answer.

"It'll be my treat, of course," Keitaro said. "Uhm, you can pick anywhere in town… or, actually, anywhere nearby, if you want to take the train or bus, I guess."

Still, Naru didn't answer. Slowly, she turned around to almost but not quite face Keitaro.

"I, uhm, I don't know," she said timidly. "I had planned to do some studying today, so—"

"Oh, come on, Naru, you can afford a day off," Keitaro said cheerfully. "We spent up until yesterday cramming, and I'm sure you did well on the test… come on, you owe yourself a break, right?"

Still, she looked skeptical. In fact, she looked at him as if she was trying to make a decision that was far more complicated than "Do I want to go to dinner with a guy I may or may not dislike?"

Keitaro held his smile, though, and after a moment Naru returned it and nodded.

"Alright, Kei-kun," she said. "I look forward to dinner with you."

She stood up, then, and made her way past Keitaro to head upstairs. As she did, Keitaro couldn't help but shivering involuntarily. Something about the way she spoke made it feel as if something cold and slimy had wrapped around his neck, and he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

* * *

"Eh? You mean you've never had Korean barbecue before?"

"Well, I mean, I've had similar things," Keitaro said. "We have something called Mongolian barbecue in America… it's pretty popular, and there's a good place not far from where I live when I'm in DC. But, well, to be honest… I've never even had Korean food before," he admitted. "I don't even have the slightest concept of it."

"Well, then," Naru said, "prepare to have your mind blown."

Since it was a weekday, the dimly-lit establishment they were approaching wasn't exactly packed with customers. On the other hand, it was far from empty, and besides that, Keitaro could see that many of the patrons were not, in fact, ethnically Japanese. They seemed to speak the language perfectly and without an accent, but something about looked a little different.

They were Korean, Keitaro realized after a moment. They were probably part of the small, but significant Korean population that had lived in Japan for decades without mixing into the larger population. For a moment, Keitaro wondered what they felt like, being strangers or outsiders in their own homeland—but then he realized that his experience was probably the same as theirs; if anything, his was more pronounced.

What Keitaro was surprised by, though, was that when Naru spoke to the host to get them a table, he didn't understand a word she'd said.

And then he understood what was going on.

"I never knew you spoke Korean," Keitaro said, as they approached a two-person table to the side of the restaurant. Once they were seated, metal chopsticks and soup spoons were placed before them, along with tall, ice-cold cups of water.

"I learned it when I lived in Seoul," Naru said. She scooted her chair forward, a bit, as if so that she could speak to Keitaro from a much closer position. Suddenly, though, she turned away and seemed to shrink back into her seat.

"But that was a long time ago."

Keitaro looked at her for a moment. He'd never seen her like this before—sure, he'd seen her upset—a lot!—but he'd never seen her upset in this manner. Now, she wasn't being aggressive, she seemed almost… hurt, or saddened, as if carefully-concealed memories had just had their bandages pulled off and were open and raw for the world to see.

He took a sip of water and thought carefully before speaking.

"I think my father worked in Seoul for a few weeks once," he said. "That was before he met Mom… since then, it's pretty much been DC and Islamabad for him."

Naru didn't respond to that, and Keitaro wisely decided against trying to press her into speaking. Still, he truly hoped that they wouldn't spend the entirety of the meal trying to look away from each another in complete silence.

Fortunately, though, she seemed to recover a moment later. She sat up a bit straighter, looked at the simple but elegant design of their table, and then faced Keitaro.

"He sounds very well-traveled," Naru said. "Where have you been… besides the US and Pakistan?"

"Japan," Keitaro said immediately. He smiled to show that he was just kidding—and Naru couldn't help but smiling back.

"To be honest, I've barely ever been anywhere else," Keitaro admitted. "I mean, I've been in a couple airports… in Germany, France, and the UK, but that's about it."

He looked at Naru's surprised expression, and grinned, somewhat embarrassed.

"I've just never really had an interest in going anywhere else… and besides, there are tons of things to do… in either the US or Pakistan alone. So, I don't really need to go anywhere else to be entertained."

The sleeves of his shirt began to fall beyond his wrists, so Keitaro pushed them back until they bunched up just after his elbows. He was pretty lanky, so it was tough to find shirts that fit properly. Most ended up looking baggy and ill-fitting on him; in order for the hem to come down to his waist they ended up being too large everywhere else.

Come to think of it, perhaps he ought to go shopping in Japan. Most of his clothes were American, and as such, by wearing them alone he marked himself as an outsider—and that was to say nothing of his Pakistani clothing.

His attention was drifting from Naru, but that was just as well. She didn't seem ready to speak very much yet, and so a moment passed before she said something.

"So… what are you thinking about getting?" she asked.

"That I don't know," Keitaro said. He had only just opened the menu; he scanned the "noodles" section for a moment before coming across something that looked interesting.

"Err… I guess I'll try the _japchae_. Is that good, Naru?"

She nodded to respond—and after a moment, she finally spoke.

"It's pretty good… it's a sweet, savory dish with vegetables and soy sauce."

"Sounds interesting," Keitaro said. "I suppose I'll get that… but I haven't really eaten today, so I guess I should get something else—maybe a meat dish."

Keitaro flipped a page of his menu and began to scan the next section. However, the descriptions were unhelpful, so after a moment, he looked up at Naru again. This time, she didn't seem quite as… standoffish as she generally seemed to.

"On second thoughts," Keitaro said, "I'll defer to your judgment, Narusegawa. What do you suggest?"

"Oh, uhm…" Naru said, as if surprised that he was asking her such a question. "Well, _kaibi_ is really popular," she said. "It's very good, too… sliced beef ribs that are grilled and served with some condiments. You put it in lettuce and eat it like that."

"I'll go with that, then," Keitaro said, more grateful that Naru was speaking—_and_ that he didn't have to randomly pick one of the dozens of menu items listed for him—than anything else.

"What are you planning to get?"

"I'm getting _bulgogi_ and _soondubujigae_," Naru said. "Sliced, grilled beef and tofu soup."

Keitaro nodded. Now that Naru was actually talking a bit, this evening out was feeling less like a chore and more like a pleasure. Sure, he'd have to pay for it at the end—and more than a pretty penny or two, judging by the prices on the menu—but at least Naru seemed to be in good spirits. At least, she seemed to be acting like it, anyway.

Keitaro sat forward a bit and looked at Naru for a moment. It was odd—they'd been living together for some time, and they studied together and attended cram school together, but it seemed that he barely knew her on a personal level—if he did in fact know her on a personal level at all.

"So… what makes you such an expert on Korean food, Narusegawa?" Keitaro asked.

"Well, like I said, I lived in Seoul," Naru said, albeit not in a thoroughly unfriendly manner. "I was there for a few years, so I guess I picked up part of the language and culture."

Keitaro could tell that it was wise to leave that subject alone—for the most part—so he altered the course of the conversation, just a little.

"That's nice," he said. "I guess it's sort of rare for Japanese people to be exposed to other cultures like that, right? When you think about it, it's actually quite a coincidence that there are two exceptions to the rule, sitting across from each other, talking about the good old days in other countries."

That engendered a smile from her, but she elected against responding with his implied query about what she'd learned in Korea.

"I guess it is. Cheers, Kei-kun," Naru said, raising her glass. She clicked it against Keitaro's and then took a brief drink—briefer than Keitaro's, so that she could speak before he did.

"You've lived out of Japan for most of your life… how does it feel to come how after all this time?" Naru asked. "If you even consider Japan home at this point…"

"Japan is my home," Keitaro answered quickly and unambiguously. "Islamabad's my home too, and so is DC, but this nation is part of my blood. It's true that I haven't lived here for a long time, but when I'm at home with my parents, we speak Japanese—and we eat Japanese, and we watch Japanese TV sometimes, too. Coming back here… was actually sort of a letdown," Keitaro said. "I thought I'd be overwhelmed, but I wasn't. When I came back to Japan, it just felt like… almost like I'd never left, I guess."

He nodded after saying that, as if he was satisfied by his own answer. And for a moment, Naru was, too, until she remembered that as a sociopath, Keitaro was eloquent by his very nature.

She had to hand it to him, though, he was a Hell of a good sociopath. He never dropped character, come to think of it, not even for a moment. The closest he came to dropping character was when she subtly, or not-so-subtly showed him some skin to distract him, and even then, he was only the slightest bit more vulnerable at those times.

And as for his so-called "accidents" with her… well, even then, he didn't drop character. He was apologetic and remorseful the whole way through.

He had to be stopped. He had to be taken down, and fast. Already, he had affected Kitsune, perhaps a lot more than she realized, but even Kitsune had to notice that she'd given up alcohol for Keitaro—or, at least, for a stupid bet with Keitaro. Naru had tried _everything_ to make Kitsune quit drinking, or at least quit drinking as much, but nothing had worked—and then, in a few weeks' time, Keitaro had managed to do it.

It was… a good thing, Naru allowed, and that one slight good thing was the only reason she wasn't talking to Yakuza to have him offed at the next opportunity.

On the other hand, one good deed did not absolve Keitaro from a lifetime of misdeeds.

Somehow when she spoke next, she kept a level tone. She was as good of an actor as he was, after all, or at least that was what she told herself.

"But some things about coming here must have surprised you," Naru said. "I mean, you weren't here for fifteen years… Japan today _has_ to be different from the Japan you remember, right?"

"Mmm, not really," Keitaro said. "I mean, sure, people have smartphones and stuff these days, and everything's faster, more convenient, and better—but on the other hand, people are still extremely neat, clean, organized, and punctual. So the big picture really hasn't changed much at all," he said. "It's still worlds apart from Pakistan."

"Why do you say that?" Naru said. She couldn't deny it, even to herself—she was interested. She'd barely devoted a thought to south Asia until meeting Keitaro, but now, she found stories of that distant, exotic part of the world rather appealing.

"Well, it's just that Pakistanis are a lot different than Japanese," Keitaro said. "For example… here, pretty much everyone looks alike," Keitaro said. "Sure, you have people with dyed hair, and Koreans, and maybe the odd foreigner here and there," he said, perhaps referring to himself, "but that's about it. On the other hand, in Pakistan… you have Balochis, Pashtuns, Punjabis, Sindhis, Kashmiris, Muhajirs… and even in the same family, people can look completely different," he said. "I have a friend whose family is from Nuristan… his mother is blonde, with brown eyes, but his father has black hair and green eyes, and somehow he's tan with brown hair and brown eyes. And then, there are people who have faces… if you look at them, you can tell that Pakistan has had influences from all over over the years," Keitaro said. "The history of the nation is literally in the faces of its people."

"But the same is true about Japan," Naru said. "Since we all look more or less the same, you should be able to tell that we haven't really had too many foreign influences, right?"

"Well, yes," Keitaro allowed. "But I think it's just more interesting when there's actually a question as to what the next generation will look like... don't you?"

"Maybe," Naru admitted. "On the other hand, I do like how pure Japanese culture is. It's nice to know that the way we live is the way our ancestors lived centuries ago."

Keitaro raised an eyebrow at Naru and smiled. He then gestured at their surroundings.

"We're in a Korean restaurant," he said. "You take lessons from a Pakistani teacher, and even though you probably practice Shintoism—nominally—you probably also practice Buddhism and have Buddhist beliefs, too. You'll probably get married in a Christian church, work for a multinational corporation, and go on vacations in the US, Europe, Australia, and elsewhere," Keitaro said.

He could tell by Naru's expression that not only had he hit the nail on the head, he'd opened up a whole new line of thought to her.

"I don't think Japanese culture is any more or less 'pure' than any other," Keitaro said. "Japanese culture… just _is_, and that's fine, because those who follow Japanese culture today have a lot to be proud of. For example, if I were to drop my wallet in the street here in Japan, I'd probably get it back—without a yen missing, too," Keitaro said. "How many other cultures can say that?"

By this point, their food had been ordered, and they'd spent perhaps ten minutes waiting for it. It seemed like a natural pause in the conversation, and so Naru took a long sip of water and fidgeted in her seat.

She'd dressed up for the evening, but not really. A nice blouse and a short—but not too short!—skirt were more than enough to make her look nice, and she'd combed her hair so that it flowed elegantly down the nape of her neck down to her lower back. Her goal was to appeal to Keitaro just enough to distract him a little, and maybe make him more vulnerable to showing his true nature, but she couldn't be too obvious otherwise he'd notice and compensate as necessary.

Still, she had to admit that talking to him was somewhat interesting, and more than a little intellectually stimulating. She was about to say something to this effect when their food arrived, steaming hot and accompanied by a number of the varied side-dishes Korean cuisine was famous for. The colors of the meal alone were a treat, to say nothing of the savory, sweet smells emanating from the barbecued meats.

Apparently, she and Keitaro were both a lot hungrier than they'd realized—either that, or the food was unusually good, because for the next five minutes, barely a word passed between the two of them.

After that, they did speak a bit more. Naru was a bit more open and Keitaro was as friendly and polite as ever, and so by the time they had finished and paid for the meal, Naru had almost forgotten that the whole thing was an act, a lie, and that every word of the conversation they'd shared had therefore been pure BS.

But even she couldn't shake the feeling of happiness and warmth that she knew wasn't solely as a result of the fact that she'd just eaten a phenomenal meal.

"_Alright, Mr. Urashima,"_ Naru thought, as they chatted on their way back to Hinata Inn. _"So you're a good conversation, and decent company at dinner. I guess I'll… take it easy on you for a few days. And who knows—if you keep up the good work, maybe I'll try to get you put in jail, instead of kicked out of Japan completely."_

Normally, when Naru had thoughts like these, there was a malicious, almost dangerous underlying to them. Now, though, no matter how much she denied it, it was almost like she was playing a game with Keitaro.

Was she really just playing a game with herself, though? Keitaro's actions were sincere; _anyone_ apart from Naru could have realized that within moments of seeing him talk and interact with her. So, was it really true that Naru was still trying to figure out how Keitaro operated in order to destroy him—or was she really interested in, perhaps, finding a friend within him?

* * *

Keitaro split the next day between biking and studying. He felt that the atmosphere between himself and Narusegawa had warmed, perceptibly—sure, she didn't invite him to her room to study and she still turned down his offers to study in his room, but on the other hand when they looked over books in the living room, she seemed rather less guarded around him.

Besides that, Kitsune spent time with the two of them, though of course she didn't study. She spent a few hours writing an article on a significant series of horse races that would be held outside of Tokyo in a few weeks' time—overall, she was excellent company, and even Motoko dropped by to spend a few quiet moments with the three of them at some point.

It was hard to believe that Keitaro's first day at Hinata Inn had been so, shall we put it, memorable. Now, everyone seemed rather relaxed and pleasant with his presence, and although Su still tried to blow him up from time to time, the treatment he received from her was no different from the treatment she gave to everyone else.

He was pretty sure that he'd settled into Hinata Inn, and his daily routine of studying, biking, and attending cram school. That was good…

"We should get going to school soon," Naru said suddenly, causing Keitaro to look up from the pile of notes and books in front of him. He rubbed his eyes once, and looked at his phone for the time.

"Yeah," he agreed. Keitaro started to pack up his things and, in doing so, he saw that one of his pencils had rolled toward Kitsune. He went to go and get it, but Kitsune picked it up first and handed it to him.

He gave her a smile in thanks, but when their eyes met, Kitsune smiled back—Keitaro could tell she wanted to say something.

"You should get your test results today, right?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Keitaro asked. He turned back to glance to Naru; she was likely to know a lot more than he did, but strangely, she didn't seem to be paying much attention to either himself or Kitsune.

"Well, good luck then, buddy," Kitsune said.

"Thanks, Kitsune," Keitaro replied, "but I already took my test. If there was a time to wish me luck, it was back then."

"Funny," Kitsune said, seeing that Keitaro was just teasing her. She reached to the side of her face to brush a few strands of hair behind an ear, and that made Keitaro realize that she hadn't cut her hair in some time. These days, it was almost shoulder-length.

"Anyway, I was thinking," she went on, "this is your first major test in Japan, and… well, maybe you haven't aced it, but I bet you did pretty well, so… maybe we could celebrate it a little bit."

Somewhere else in the room, Naru stood up straight from what she was doing and almost turned to face Keitaro and Kitsune.

On the other hand, Keitaro didn't realize anything significant about Kitsune's words, nor did he notice the slight reddish shade overlain across her cheeks. He looked at her, sure, bit in a way it almost seemed that he was looking right through her.

"That sounds good, Kitsune… yeah, I guess I could afford to go out on Saturday or something. Naru, do you want to join us?"

The moment he said that, Kitsune nearly panicked—she struggled to think of something, quick, some sort of excuse to get Naru to leave the two of them alone—but them, Naru turned, faced Keitaro, smiled, and shook her head.

"I'm going to stay with a friend in Nagoya for a day or two this weekend," Naru said. "Sorry, Kei-kun."

"No worries," Keitaro replied, and Kitsune just had a moment to compose her triumphant expression before Keitaro turned to face her again.

"Anyway, sounds like a plan, Kitsune," Keitaro said. "But I don't think I can afford to drink at this stage… can you?"

It was an innocent question—a completely ordinary, innocent question. And yet, for the briefest sliver of a moment, Kitsune thought she saw a hidden, precise intelligence in Keitaro's eyes as he looked at her so closely that she almost felt that she couldn't move.

"Nah," she managed to say in a normal tone. "I haven't found a competition around here yet, but I'm just starting to get back into the swing of things. If I went too overboard on a celebration, I'd lose all the progress I've made. It's gonna be a dry weekend for me, I'm afraid," she sighed—but, as she'd hoped, Keitaro looked impressed—perhaps even proud.

"That seems wise to me," he said. He heard Naru head upstairs, glanced at his phone for the time again, and then drew away from Kitsune.

"That's my cue to leave," Keitaro said. "I'll see you later, okay, Kitsune? Have fun at the pool."

"Have fun in class," Kitsune replied, and as Keitaro made his way to his room to pack up the materials he'd need for school that night, she heard him laugh at her comment.

This made her smile for a few moments, even as she looked over the several thousand quality words she'd tapped out on her laptop. She was satisfied with her work for the day, but apart from that, she felt a deeper sense of satisfaction that she knew stemmed from something rather deeper than the temporary feeling of accomplishment she generally received from finishing a given task. She was, for once, satisfied with how her life in general was going.

* * *

"All right," Professor Nawaz said, "I have your tests graded and ready for you."

The straight backs of the students somehow straightened even more at those words. This made the professor smile.

"In the past, I've tried to wait until the end of class to hand back papers, but I've found that students can't focus while waiting to find out how they did. So, I'll be handing your papers back now."

If possible, the straight backs of the students straightened _even more_.

Professor Nawaz began to call out names. He then handed the tests back to their owners, and this was not a particularly efficient manner of returning the graded material, but it was relatively secure. In this manner, no one had an opportunity to cheat and see what another student had got—such information was kept strictly confidential.

"I must say, I'm rather impressed by your overall performance," Nawaz mentioned, as he got through handing back perhaps a third of the papers in his arms. "Usually, students are only doing this well by the end of cram school, but this class is a few weeks ahead of any other I've taught, in terms of achievement. Congratulations to you for that," he said.

A few moments passed, during which the professor continued to call out unfamiliar names. At one point, he called, "Narusegawa Naru!" and Keitaro had to focus to avoid trying to glance at Naru's test as the professor handed it back to her—but there was no way he could ignore the satisfied grin on her face when she opened the front page to look at the grade written inside the packet.

So. She'd done well.

This was to be expected, since Keitaro had come to know that Naru was one of the top students _in the whole nation_, but regardless, he felt that the pressure was on for him to do at least adequately. And—and he'd done his best, he truly had; he'd studied hard and crammed and everything—but now, his palms were starting to sweat. Now, he couldn't help but feeling the nervousness he so commonly managed to cast aside like the annoyance it was.

Professor Nawaz reached one name in particular, but he didn't call it out. Instead, he looked up—directly at Keitaro—and walked toward him.

He handed out the test packet and Keitaro received it from him with shaking hands.

Keitaro held the test, for a moment, and tried to calm himself down by breathing deeply—but it didn't work. So, he opened the packet up…

… And saw a C marked on his paper with red ink.

* * *

(I actually finished up until this point a few days ago. I kept writing, got busy for a few days, got back to this fic, and realized that this is a perfect place to break until the next chapter.

I hope you're still enjoying things. Let me know what you think about this chapter—in particular, I'd like your opinions on my writing style this chapter. I seem to have sort of wandered a lot by doing more than summarizing the conversations between Naru and Keitaro, and the Professor and Keitaro. Do you like this, or should I work to use dialogue and interaction to move the plot more?

Anyway, the next chapter will focus a bit more on Keitaro's internal thoughts as he struggles with how to redefine himself as a student, and explain his subpar performance to his parents. Maybe I'll even get as far as the dinner date with Kitsune… only time will tell.

As always, the more feedback I get, the merrier I am, and the faster I write.)


	7. Chapter 7

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Seven

* * *

He hadn't bombed the test. He hadn't bombed the test _completely_.

These were the thoughts going through Keitaro's mind throughout the rest of class; at least, these were the thoughts Keitaro tried to make go through his mind for the remainder of class. He tried to tell himself that he hadn't done _that_ badly—that a C grade was actually an okay starting point—but he couldn't convince himself no matter how hard he tried.

As a result, he was barely able to pay attention to what was taught that evening. Fortunately, it wasn't math, so he could afford to zone out every few moments to berate himself without completely losing track of things—but there was no doubt that he didn't gain everything out of the evening that he might have had he done better.

Somehow, he managed to get through the evening, though. Somehow, he managed to drag himself out of class when it finished, avoiding Professor Nawaz's eyes as he exited, and then he went home.

He walked straight to his room, collapsed onto his bed, and that was all.

* * *

Keitaro woke up late the next morning, despite that he'd gone to sleep rather earlier than he tended to on school nights. When he sat up in his bed, he groaned reflexively… he felt almost sick, for some reason, though he didn't know why. Apart from that, he felt groggy, dirty, and he was barely awake for a moment when he wondered why he felt so bad.

There was that he'd gone to sleep in his clothes. But there was also that he'd gotten a C on his first major test in Japan.

That thought made him wince. He lay back down and placed his hands over his face in shame.

A C on the test… that was _bad_. It wasn't cripplingly bad, perhaps, but it was still bad enough that Keitaro knew that he had to seriously get his act together, or else forget his dreams of attending Tokyo University for good. A grade like that—he'd never have thought that he'd do _that_ bad! Sure, he might get a B or even a B minus, but a C? It was as if he hadn't learned anything at all in cram school. He'd wasted time, money, and effort, and all he had to show for it was a bad test. It wasn't just a mark against him in his own book—he'd embarrassed himself to Professor Nawaz, too. He'd seen the disappointment in the older man's eyes when he'd been given his test back, and that thought made him cringe again.

He tried to rekindle the hopeful, determined flame that generally defined his thoughts and his overall state of being, but he wasn't successful. So, Keitaro stood up and spent the next half hour showering as slowly as he possibly could, with the water temperature's setting at maximum. He stood still under the boiling waves of water, placing one arm against the shower wall to support himself, but he let his head hang as it would… he just didn't have the energy or the desire to hold his head up.

When he got out, he shaved, applied aftershave and then cologne, and then he put on deodorant. Then, he put on his clothes—that day, he elected to wear jeans and some sort of graphic tee shirt that actually fit him sort of well—and then, he felt a bit better about himself.

He made his way back into his room and sat down at his desk. For a moment, he did nothing at all, and then he reached forward and pushed open a nearby window.

Natural light flooded the room, but after only a moment Keitaro's eyes had adjusted enough that he didn't have to squint. It was a rather pleasant day outside, it seemed—sunny, sure, but it was rather temperate, so… maybe he could enjoy himself biking, for at least a few hours, before he came back and hit the books _hard_.

That thought alone undid almost all of the therapeutic effects of Keitaro's purposefully-slow morning routines—perhaps justifiably so.

A C grade on a test… that was no good, no good at all. If he wanted to have a chance to get into Tokyo U, he'd have to do a lot better than that, and to do a lot better than a C grade, he'd have to study a _lot_ more—and he'd have to do that while biking as hard as he ever had in his life if he wanted to even place in the Yokohama Invitational… and come to think of it, he wasn't exactly practicing as hard as he could. Compared to what his competition was probably doing to prepare, he was taking a vacation!... and soon, when it came time to actually face off against them in a race, everyone would see just how much more seriously everyone else took biking than Keitaro.

He'd have to change his game completely, and that meant that he didn't have time for any more nonsense. He couldn't take breaks to go on Youtube and look at videos of cats—how many hours had he wasted in the past week alone, doing just that? And how many more hours had he wasted puttering about the house, doing his chores lazily, or perhaps just half-doing them while browsing the internet on his phone? How much more time did he waste studying but not _really_ studying, not really pouring every last ounce of his attention into what he was doing so that not a single fact or figure could escape from his mind?

Keitaro almost felt angry at himself—no, for a moment, he really did feel angry at himself. Already it was late in the morning, and what had he done so far?

Absolutely nothing… absolutely nothing at all. He'd wasted time showering and then he'd wasted time trying to make his pathetic body smell and look better, and he had nothing to show for it—not in any sense.

He'd have to make up for that.

Keitaro didn't go down for breakfast. He simply sat down, opened a textbook and notebook, and started to read.

His attention didn't waver. He didn't let it—every time it did, he reminded himself that he was a C student, and if he wanted that to change, he couldn't get distracted—not by anything, or anyone, not until it was after noon.

* * *

At perhaps 1pm, Keitaro did allow himself to take a break from studying. He felt that he'd… made the most of the morning, sort of. After going over the subpar notes he'd taken the night before, he'd gone a bit further ahead to make sure that he was prepared for the next class, and then he'd gone over previous material to make sure that he had that down, too. He wasn't doing the kind of work a Tokyo U student ought to be doing… but at least he wasn't studying like a third-rate C student, either.

So he went downstairs to eat. He didn't realize how hungry he was until he was in the kitchen itself.

He was alone, of course. Shinobu and Su were at school, Naru was studying on her own, Motoko was probably practicing her swordsmanship on the roof or meditating, and Kitsune was writing. That meant that he had… well, he could allow himself half an hour to cook and eat a meal. And that meant that he couldn't get fancy.

One of the benefits of group living was that large quantities of rice were constantly being cooked or kept, so that there was a constant amount of the pan-Asian staple ready for consumption at any given time. That meant that Keitaro simply had to take an obscene portion of it, warm it up in the microwave, and then spend a few moments cutting vegetables and meat and then stir-frying them in oyster sauce to have a balanced, nutritious meal.

It was nowhere near as good as what Shinobu made, or even what Keitaro could make given time, but it would suffice—it would have to. After all, not only did Keitaro not deserve the luxury of good food, he hadn't earned it, not by a long shot. He'd studied for a few hours, but he was the kind of idiot who got Cs on mock exams. Studying for a few hours in the morning… it just wasn't enough.

Keitaro ate as fast as he could and after cleaning up after himself, he realized that he'd only spent perhaps twenty-five minutes cooking, cleaning, and eating.

Good.

The next order of business was to get to biking, and to do that until it became simply too dark to see.

* * *

"Hey, Motoko. What's up with you? It's been a while since we've chatted."

"Good evening, Kitsune-san. I hope your day has been well."

"There's no need to be so formal around me, sugar. Call me 'Kitsune', okay?"

"Certainly, Kitsune-s—Kitsune."

It was perhaps eight o'clock in the evening when Kitsune had returned home from a long afternoon and evening at the pool. Since it was a Friday night, there had been families, there, sure, but the lanes were clear, and so Kitsune had been free to do her thing with few distractions.

Come to think of it, the only really annoying things she'd had to deal with at the pool that day were the usual gangly, bespectacled, acne-faced _otakus_ who thought that she was some sort of cutout _bishojo_, who could be picked up and brought home after perhaps a few awkward moments of utterly bland conversation.

The Hell of it was that even since Kitsune had elected to wear more modest swimwear than the bikini she'd used to bedazzle Keitaro those few weeks ago, she'd had more than her share of suitors every time she'd gone to the pool.

It was flattering in a way, sure, but Kitsune wasn't interested in being hit on by no-names with no futures—certainly not when she had far more lucrative targets in her sights.

She was rather tired and sore after such a workout, but that meant that she could take the next day off without guilt. Sure, maybe she'd do a little writing tomorrow, but after that—from the afternoon on—she'd dedicate the day to Keitaro, or at least to the increasingly large part of him that liked her.

Come to think of, she hadn't seen him so far that day. He hadn't come down for lunch, so Kitsune assumed that he was busy studying and left him be, but she hadn't seen him after that, either. And then, of course, she had gone to the pool, so she had no idea of what Keitaro had done all day whatsoever.

Ah, well—it wasn't as if she had anything to worry about. She knew for a fact that he had no romantic interests in the rest of the girls, and apart from that, his interests didn't let him spend very much time out and about, where some external force might possibly wrest him away from her. It was therefore quite safe to give Keitaro his space most of the time—as long as she was a frequent force in his life, it didn't matter if hours, or even days passed without any interaction with him.

Kitsune realized that her attention was drifting from Motoko. She smiled—to give herself a few moments to think—and then sat down heavily on the living room couch, dropping her duffel bag at her feet.

"I'm beat," she said. "Swimming all day is a Hell of a workout."

"I'm impressed that you can swim for so long, Kitsune," Motoko said. She too sat on a couch, albeit one across from Kitsune—and in a much, much more dignified fashion. "I can swim a few hundred meters… but that's all."

"Well, maybe, but you can practice your sword-fighting for hours on end. I'd get exhausted of doing that pretty quickly, I think."

"That's true," Motoko said regally. "Swordsmanship is a precise, exacting art, one which not everyone can just pick up and excel at. It takes years of dedication and practice just to hold a blade properly, and then there's…"

Kitsune was thus reduced to spending the next ten minutes nodding dully and muttering the occasional "uh-huh" to the impromptu speech Motoko delivered to her. Although swords and the art of using them was far from a boring topic, somehow Motoko managed to make it so, so that by the time she finally seemed to be running out of things to say (most of which seemed to include hyperbolic claims about the difficulty of learning to use a sword) Kitsune was seriously considering committing Seppuku.

Fortunately, she was saved from that course of action by Keitaro's appearance. He entered through the side of Hinata Inn; he opened the door leading from the hallway that also led to Kitsune's room and entered the living room. He was panting—exhausted—and his shirt was utterly drenched with sweat. Yet, each step he took was filled with a sort of slow, precise confidence that did nothing but illuminate the chiseled angles of his face, the veins visible in his limbs, and the lean, toned muscle lining his frame.

Kitsune had rarely seen a more attractive man in her life. If she'd looked closer, though, she would have seen that he wasn't just tired physically; rather, he looked… drained, or stretched, perhaps, like butter that had been spread over too much toast.

"Hey, Kei," she said to greet him—she winced almost immediately after those words left her mouth; it sounded like she was making a cheap and rather bland joke—but Keitaro didn't seem to realize it. He just faced her—for a second—smiled—and kept walking. No, he wasn't walking, exactly—it was more like he was limping away, as if walking itself was too tiring for him.

Kitsune noticed that. And it worried her.

"Uhm, what's up?" she asked, as Keitaro passed by her and Motoko. "I haven't seen you all day… what've you been up to?"

"Biking," Keitaro replied simply. "And studying, earlier. That's… about it."

He kept walking for a moment, and it seemed that he was just going to leave the living room and head into the kitchen—but he seemed to realize something that made him stop, turn around, and face Kitsune and Motoko fully. He smiled apologetically, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, as if he was too worn out to even feel real emotion.

"It's just… I kept myself pretty busy today," Keitaro said. He leaned against the doorframe and for a moment, he looked away from Kitsune and into empty space. It was as if he was distracted, or perhaps it was that there was something that was bothering him. His eyes were unfocused and he was still breathing hard, and Kitsune had never known him to do that for very long.

She really was starting to get quite worried about him

"Well, it's good that you made the most of the day," Kitsune said, trying to brighten the mood while watching Keitaro closely for reaction.

"Just don't overwork yourself; take a break from time to time," she suggested.

"Oh yeah—speaking of that, are we still on for tomorrow?"

Keitaro nodded, almost absently, but Kitsune forced herself to remain cheerful. She would find out what was up with him, but only in good time. For now, Keitaro needed his space… even if he was only going to use it to look downcast and sad.

"Great," Kitsune said. "Say, why don't you go and take a shower?" she suggested. "I haven't eaten either, so when you're finished I'll have something ready for us to take to our rooms. It would be nice to eat together, but I have to focus tonight… big assignment due tomorrow."

That was a lie—a complete fabrication. Kitsune had finished all of her time-critical work several days before, but she needed an excuse to give Keitaro an excuse to eat alone. He was far too polite to want to eat upstairs, by himself, while studying—certainly not after Kitsune had cooked for him. This way, Keitaro would be able to be polite _while_ having time to himself to study, or deal with whatever else was bugging him.

What _was_ bugging him, though?... Kitsune wondered, but she'd have to find out later, and the next night's dinner date would give her an excellent opportunity to do so.

* * *

Keitaro tried to enjoy his shower that evening. He generally greatly enjoyed hot showers after a long, active day, as they soothed and relaxed him in addition to cleaning him. He usually loved the feeling of stepping out of a shower, smelling of soap and deodorant, but that evening, showering itself felt like more of a chore than anything else. He was, after all, wasting good time—time that could be spent studying, so that perhaps even an idiot like him could have a prayer of getting into Tokyo University.

He heard Kitsune cooking downstairs, and decided against bothering her. She certainly wouldn't want him around while she was so busy; he'd just get in the way—so he stayed in his room, sat at his desk and tried to think of what to tell his parents about his performance on the test.

Barely a minute passed before he was on his feet and pacing around. What could he tell them—_how_ could he tell them that he'd gotten a C?

He'd emailed his parents to let them know that he'd taken a test at school, and they'd wished him luck, of course, but since then he hadn't communicated with them. When he did, even if he didn't mention anything about his test, they were sure to ask him how it had gone, and then he'd have to tell them that he'd gotten a C.

When that happened… they're probably tell him that everyone had bad days and such things, and that an excellent student like him would be able to improve quickly. They'd type that out and email it to him, and so Keitaro would never see their faces when they were informed about how he had done.

But he would know, deep in his gut, that both his mother and his father would feel disappointment—a _lot_ of disappointment…

Before he even realized it, Keitaro was at his desk and studying again.

* * *

Kitsune finished cooking and waited in the kitchen for some time, nibbling on rice and some spicy curry she'd made to wait for Keitaro. When he got down, she'd pretend that she had just popped into the kitchen to get some water, and they'd have a few moments to chat before he went back to his room after thanking her for cooking for him.

It was a wonderful plan, a perfect plan—given, of course, that Keitaro came down.

And he wasn't coming down.

So, Kitsune went to her room, leaving the door open so that she'd be able to see, or at the very least hear when Keitaro got downstairs. She turned her computer on and started to type out the beginnings of her next major article, working out a structure and some interesting points she'd like to draw attention to, and this, and that…

And an hour later, Kitsune realized that Keitaro still hadn't come downstairs.

Now, she really was starting to get concerned.

She stood up, looked at herself in a nearby mirror—she was dressed to sleep, of course, but even in her usual PJs—short shorts and a tank top—she looked, well, sexy.

After stopping in the kitchen to load a plate up with some of the food she'd made, Kitsune headed upstairs to Keitaro's room. His light was on, she could see that just by walking down the hall, but his door was open—and as she drew closer, Kitsune could see that he was hunched over his desk, blearily staring at a book and writing notes.

Just by looking at him, Kitsune could tell that he hadn't moved in over an hour. The poor guy was cramming, hard, and at such a late hour—but why?

Kitsune knocked on the door, and Keitaro jumped a little before turning around. He recognized her—smiled, and stretched in his seat.

"Oh, hello, Kitsune," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"Stop studying so hard, for one thing," Kitsune said. She entered Keitaro's room, crossing it in a few strides, and set the plate she'd prepared for him on his desk. She then sat down on the corner of his bed, perhaps two feet from him, so that they were close—but not too close.

"And start eating, for another," Kitsune said. She grinned, but when she spoke again it was in a more serious tone.

"Really, Keitaro—I've noticed that you haven't been eating properly in the past couple days, and you're cramming today, late at night, when you had a big test just a few days ago? You can't treat your body like this for long," she said. "Sooner or later, it'll give out on you."

"I know," Keitaro sighed. He looked down, sighed, and only spoke again after a moment had passed.

"Kitsune," he began slowly, "you said that I'd do well on the test. Well… I didn't," he admitted. "I got a C."

"Oh," Kitsune said. "Well, that's not _that_ bad, right? That's got to be, what, 80th percentile at least, right?"

Keitaro scoffed and shook his head. "I guess," he said gloomily, "but you have to be in at least the 95th in order for Tokyo U to look at you twice. Here," he said. He rummaged around in his backpack for a moment, and then handed a folded piece of paper to Kitsune.

"That's my test report," he said. He watched as Kitsune looked over it, and then looked down again.

"Long story short, I should just give up my dream now."

"Hey, now, don't say that," Kitsune said. She handed him his test back, but he didn't look at her—not until she rested a hand on his knee.

"Look," Kitsune said, "it's never easy to work to achieve a dream—or, in your case, two dreams. You want to get into Tokyo U and compete in the Yokohama Invitational, and you're surprised that there are little bumps in the road from time to time? Keitaro, if someone ever said that you'd never make a mistake in your life, then, well, they lied."

She let that sink in for a moment.

"I'm not saying that it's alright to get these kinds of grades, but when you think about it, it's not that bad," Kitsune said. "80th percentile is pretty good, and besides that, you only really dropped the ball in the math section. On everything else, you did well—better than well, even—you did great."

Keitaro had to nod to that. And actually, now that he thought of it… it was very unlike him to do badly at math. But he had on the test—why? Had it been because he'd worked himself to exhaustion earlier, or was it because…?

He shook his head.

And then, he looked at Kitsune and managed to smile a little bit.

"Thanks, Kitsune," he said. "For dinner… and for the pep-talk. Really, it means a lot to me. Thank you."

Kitsune looked into his eyes for a moment, though she knew this was he cue to leave. She stood up halfway, paused—she really didn't want to leave—but then, she sighed, rubbed Keitaro's shoulder, and nodded.

"Anytime, Kei-kun," she said. "Just… take care of yourself, okay? And remember—you're all mine tomorrow night."

Keitaro managed a grin at that as Kitsune left. He looked back at his books, and his notes—and then he put them away and started to eat the dinner she'd so kindly made for him. He even turned on his computer and headed to Facebook to chat to some of his friends, whoever was on at such an hour—and a few minutes later, Keitaro was actually feeling… sort of okay, really.

He was just about to turn off his computer and call it a night when he saw Haitani "like" a certain article on a Japanese news site. He clicked the link—and there he read that the entry requirements for Tokyo U had been made even more stringent.

Now, a 95th percentile test score wouldn't cut it. Now, Tokyo U wouldn't consider you unless you had a 98th percentile grade.

* * *

It had been after 1am when Keitaro had finally gone to bed. Yet it was before 7am when he woke up.

He'd passed out at his desk, and by luck he'd fallen asleep into his math textbook. This meant that when he sat up straight again, he could pick up precisely where he'd left off.

For a full half hour, he studied as he'd studied the night before—single-mindedly, with the fear of a future away from Tokyo U motivating him to curse himself when he blinked too often. He read every last word of the two chapters that had just been covered in class and made a few pages of notes, and then he'd gone over his notes again to make sure that he hadn't written down anything incorrectly.

After that, he allowed himself to go to the bathroom to brush his teeth and shower.

He looked horrible, he reflected, after splashing his face with cold water several times to try to feel more like himself. He washed his face a second time, but that did no good—nothing would, except for a satisfactory grade on the next test at cram school… if he could manage to get one.

But there was only one way to make up for his miserable failure those few days ago, and that was to study.

And, so, Keitaro studied… he studied for three hours straight, without breaking for any reason whatsoever. Two hours were dedicated to math, the section that had been the worst on him, and he spent the other hour going over the other subjects he'd be tested on in the future.

After that, he felt a little bit better.

It was still early, Keitaro realized, and that was good. The more hours he could squeeze out of the day the better, because in addition to studying, he had to practice biking—and on top of that, he had some chores to attend to, thanks to his position as resident manager for Hinata Inn.

Come to think of it… he had quite a few chores to attend to that day. He'd have to cook a new batch of rice, as usual, but after that he'd have to vacuum upstairs and downstairs, and then he'd have to clean the bathrooms, and then he'd have to clean out the hotsprings outside.

All of these chores weren't just something Keitaro could do in a few minutes. Together, they'd take him… _maybe_ two hours, if he didn't waste any time, not even a minute. That was two hours of his day shot, gone, wasted; two hours that he could spend on studying or biking he'd have to spend doing things that, by any rights, he shouldn't have to do at all!

He hadn't asked for his position, come to think of it—the plan was, after all, that he'd come to Japan and stay with his grandmother so that he could study and practice biking _without distractions_.

And then, of course, his grandmother had gone off on a tour of the world without saying a word to anyone except to Haruka.

It was almost like she didn't want to see her grandson, though it had been over a decade since they'd last seen each other face to face—and though he had flown halfway across the world to see her. She had simply dropped off the face of the map the moment his arrival in Japan was imminent, and who could know why she had gone or where she was? It as maddening—and when Keitaro had told his father about what had happened, the elder Urashima man had simply fallen silent, for a long moment, before saying that sometimes his mother did things that didn't make much sense.

Keitaro had never had an unpleasant thought about his grandmother in his life—not until that day. But now, he didn't deny thoughts that he usually kept carefully suppressed—thoughts indicating that his grandmother's distaste for his father had transformed into distaste for him as well, that she didn't like the fact that he was of mixed heritage, that she didn't like him at all and never wanted to see him again in her life.

What else could explain what had happened? Effectively, Keitaro's grandmother had cashed out of Hinata Inn, taken the profits to waste overseas, and stuck Keitaro with the responsibility and the liability of managing Hinata Inn.

That was another thing—apart from having to act as a practical servant to Hinata Inn itself, the income from the girls' monthly rent _just_ covered expenses. If something bad happened…

Keitaro shivered. The past weekend, he'd asked Haruka for more paperwork about Hinata Inn—after all, he was the legal owner—and she'd given them to him. He'd looked through the slim dossier, nodded to himself in satisfaction, and then he'd asked Haruka for the insurance documents.

And then she'd told him that Hinata Inn wasn't insured.

That meant that the whole place was just one bad accident away from being shut down forever. Worse yet, Grandmother Hina had set things up so that Keitaro wasn't free to make the changes to Hinata Inn that were needed to make the place a half-decent business—he couldn't change rent, not even to keep pace with inflation, and the several other possibilities Keitaro considered to make money were all closed off to him.

So, he had all of the responsibilities and troubles of owning Hinata Inn. He had none of the privileges or freedoms, and if something bad really did happen to Hinata Inn, it was his ass that was on the line, not his grandmother's—and even if she was legally responsible for anything that happened, she was overseas—who even knew where!

The injustice of it all made Keitaro clench his teeth so hard that his gums started to bleed. He ought to just run the Hell away from Hinata Inn and not look back—come to that, he might as well just run the Hell away from Japan altogether! He could go back home to Islamabad and practice biking there to his heart's content, and then come back to Japan for the YI before leaving the nation forever. He could easily study at Lahore University with grades like his, or he could study in the US, or maybe the UK or somewhere else altogether. There was no logical reason at all why he ought to stay where he was, doing what he was doing!...

Except, of course, that if he continued to own Hinata Inn, if he continued to act as the manager, and if he got into Tokyo U, then he'd gain the full ownership of Hinata Inn.

That was one of the terms of the contract that had granted him limited ownership of Hinata Inn in the first place. And it was the one thing that prevented Keitaro from storming out of his room then and there.

If he stayed at Hinata Inn, if he continued to study and bike _while_ acting as the effective maid of several young and not entirely clean young women… if he beat the odds, then he would own Hinata Inn and the surrounding territory.

On top of that, he'd be studying at Tokyo University, of course. And if he managed to place well in the Yokohama International… well, then when he finished studying and got a job, his employer had damn better be willing to tolerate frequent vacations lasting a week or more, because as a professional biker, Keitaro would be travelling all over the world to compete, to promote products, and to advance the sport itself.

_If_ he beat the odds.

For a moment, it was all too tempting to give up. If Keitaro threw in the towel now—at least with respect to Hinata Inn—he could have a wonderful, successful, satisfying life.

On the other hand, he'd have to live knowing that he'd given up on a great opportunity, and he'd have to live knowing that no matter what he did, things could be so, so much better for him…

For a moment, Keitaro stood still. He did nothing, nothing at all apart from breathing, and thinking.

And then he went downstairs.

He was hungry, but he ignored it. Instead, he went to the all-too-familiar closet adjacent to the living room and got out the cleaning supplies.

* * *

It took him until noon to finish his responsibilities as resident manager. By that point, he was practically starving—he hadn't eaten since the night before, and even then, he hadn't eaten enough to keep up with his rapidfire metabolism.

The good news was, though, that he'd started cooking the rice before doing most of his chores. Now, when he was finished, it was hot and cooked and ready for him. He could eat that with some soy sauce or something, and to round out the meal, there were some fillets of fish in the fridge and some precut vegetables—well, they weren't precut in the sense that they were bought that way. Rather, they'd been bought uncut, but Shinobu had spent some time preparing them so that they were ready to rock and roll at any time.

Keitaro mentally thanked her as he began to stir-fry them in some oil. He cooked the fish on a pan, and they were just coming to completion when he realized that he hadn't seen anyone yet that day.

He wondered why, but only for a moment. Naru was gone—she'd said that she was going to spend some time with a friend this weekend, so she must have left the night before or perhaps earlier in the morning, when Keitaro was studying. She hadn't said goodbye to him, but that wasn't irregular. She wasn't exactly friendly to him (or, well, anyone else with his chromosomal makeup).

Motoko was training on the roof, of course. She spent all Saturday morning training on the roof, and after that, she meditated for some time. Suu was probably with her, and that only left Shinobu and Kitsune unaccounted for.

Shinobu was probably studying. Kitsune, on the other hand, was—

"Nice to see you among the living, Kei. Where were you all morning?"

Keitaro turned to see Kitsune saunter into the kitchen to see what he was doing. He smiled at her absent-mindedly before getting back to his cooking.

"Good, pretty good, I guess… what about you?" he answered a moment later—before realizing that he'd responded to a question that Kitsune hadn't asked.

"Uhm, I mean, I was just studying and doing some chores," he said. "That kept me busy all morning. I'm just going to grab a bite and get outside to do some biking—"

"Oh, no you don't," Kitsune protested. "You haven't been eating properly, and if you practice like you usually do today, you're going to collapse in exhaustion. Take the day off, Kei—and I'm not saying that because I want you to just relax and have a good time. I'm saying that because if you push yourself too hard, it'll come back to bite you. Trust me," she said. "When I was captain of the swim team back in high school, there were a few girls who pushed themselves too hard. I've seen what that can do to a person—pulled muscles, dislocated limbs, and worse."

She let that sink in for a moment.

"Yeah, whatever," Keitaro said gloomily. He'd finished cooking his vegetables, so he scooped them onto a plate and then shoved the pan he'd been using to cook them back onto the stove rather roughly. He glared after it for a second before turning away, looking at nothing in particular—least of all Kitsune.

"At the rate I'm going, it would be better if I just gave up biking and hit the books 24/7 instead."

Facing away from Kitsune, he began to fill his plate with rice and fish. He did so slowly and without saying a word.

And that wasn't like him. None of this was like him at all, and Kitsune thought she knew why. Keitaro was a man of determination, talent, and achievement, and that meant that when he didn't live up to the expectations he set for himself, there was a problem. For the most part, his failures served only to make him try harder, but this time, he'd failed himself so badly that he didn't know what to do.

And… Kitsune was in no position to help him. Keitaro looked at her as a friend, sure, but he wasn't nearly as close to her as he was to his other friends. Apart from that, if she dwelled on his performance on the past test in any way, even if it was in an attempt to make him feel better, she risked making things even worse.

It was therefore time for a tactical retreat.

Kitsune slipped out of the kitchen, leaving Keitaro to himself. She wasn't upset at him—not really—but she was, she admitted it, sad to see him in such an abysmal mood.

He'd get better, though. It might take more than a few hours, but Kitsune was utterly convinced that by late afternoon, he'd feel a bit more like himself. At that point, it would be up to her to show him a good time in the evening. This would make them closer, a lot closer, and might potentially give Kitsune the emotional intimacy to Keitaro she needed to really get into his head.

Keitaro ate his meal without really tasting it, let alone enjoying it… it was just food, after all; subpar food cooked by a subpar student.

After he was finished eating, Keitaro studied for another hour, but his heart really wasn't in it. He felt drained—physically and emotionally—and the fact that he'd eaten so much after eating very little over the past several days was making it hard for him to stay awake. But he had to stay awake—if he wanted to study, he had to stay awake and fully conscious, but as time went on, that was getting more and more difficult.

So, it was at perhaps 2pm that he gave in and cast off his clothes to lay down for a quick, one or two hour nap. Hopefully, that would recharge his batteries, because if it didn't, Keitaro didn't know what would…

Far too soon later, Keitaro woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. Before answering it, he noted the time—barely 2:45—and groaned. Who could be calling him now, at such a time, disturbing a nap he intended to use to hit the books twice as hard when he woke up?

Still, he answered the call and muttered a groggy "hello" to whoever was on the other end of the call.

"Keitaro, my man, what's up?"

"Oh… hi, Shirai," Keitaro grumbled.

"Hey—what's wrong, dude? You sound upset," Shirai replied.

"Yeah, I bombed the damn test," Keitaro admitted. He winced when he said that, shut his eyes, and lay back down. For a moment, he said nothing; he just rubbed his eyes with his fingers and sighed.

"Anyway," Keitaro said a moment later, "what's up?"

"Haitani and I are going on a bike trip," Shirai said. "Nothing too intense—just ten miles into the mountains. Haitani's family owns some land there, and there's a shrine he wanted to check out… so we were wondering if you wanted to come along. It definitely sounds like you could use something like this to take your mind off things."

The proposition was interesting. An opportunity to bike, get away from civilization, and maybe enjoy a few quiet moments in an abandoned shrine certainly all sounded like things Keitaro could use to boost his mood…

But on the other hand, he needed to study if he wanted to get into Tokyo University. An idiot like him—he needed to study all he could if he wanted to have half a chance of getting into Tokyo U.

And apart from that… for a moment, Keitaro could have sworn that he had something else planned for the day, but what on Earth could it be?

He thought for a moment and then decided that he was crazy; he'd finished his chores and he certainly didn't have any friends in the Hinata Springs area, so there couldn't be anything he had to do in the area.

"You know what," Keitaro said after a moment, and in a rather forceful tone, as if he had to convince himself more than anyone else, "yeah, I'll come with you. Where do you want to meet?"

Just as Shirai was about to answer, the line went dead and Keitaro saw that his phone had run out of charge. That was an annoyance, but it changed nothing. Keitaro opened his laptop up, logged onto Facebook, and not five minutes later everything had been settled.

He, Shirai, and Haitani would meet perhaps a mile from Hinata Springs. From there, they'd take a bike together into the mountains. After that… they'd spend some time in the shrine, and then maybe catch a bite to eat on the way home. All in all, the whole excursion would take until late in the evening—and that was good. It had been some time since Keitaro had taken a vacation of any sort—come to think of it, he'd been in Japan for quite some time now but he'd barely left Hinata Springs except to go to cram school! Something like this would be good for him—and, hopefully, he'd come back relaxed, in a better mood, and more focused on his goals than ever.

It only took Keitaro ten minutes to prepare for the trip. He put on his protective gear and put a rain jacket and some protein bars in a backpack, along with water and a first aid kit—just in case. After that, he left Hinata Inn without a second thought, got on his bike, and made his way to the west.

The moment Keitaro pulled away from Hinata Springs and the relaxed, chatty bustle that defined the town, he felt relaxed. True, he wasn't exactly in the middle of nowhere, but it seemed that Japanese people rarely strayed from the beaten path. Just a few hundred yards away from major roadways, Keitaro felt secluded enough to pretend, at least for a few moments, that he was free—truly free, free of responsibilities and obligations, needs, wants, desires, and inhibitions. He was on an unpaved gravel road that hadn't seen much servicing in the past several years, and such a surface would have jarred most bikes and caused most riders to slow down—but Keitaro sped up.

Within moments, his blood was flowing through his veins and his heart was pumping hard. While it was true that he wasn't exerting himself—far from it—those few, shining moments of actual effort woke him up more than splashing his face with cold water ever could.

Keitaro came to a sharp bend in the road, and that did cause him to slow down. So, he braked, a little, and rounded the corner to come upon a miniscule town that served as nothing more than the administrative center of a small farming district.

The several buildings that the town boasted weren't much to look at, and, to be frank, there wasn't much to do there while Keitaro waited the half hour or so it would take for Haitani and Shirai to join him. There was a ramen bar, however, and judging by the size and build of the several customers Keitaro saw seated outside chatting amongst themselves, its portions were large and its prices were reasonable.

Perfect.

When his friends finally joined him, Keitaro had just finished a slow, leisurely meal and several cups of tea. Although he was seated by himself, he didn't look bored or lonely at all—rather, judging from his composure, he seemed relaxed, as if the hot, savory food, the fresh air, and the low, rolling hills that surrounded him were therapeutic in some way.

Haitani and Shirai, of course, were in no such states. They'd had to battle through traffic to get to where they were, and cars had come too close for comfort to them more times than they cared to think about. It only took them a few moments to find Keitaro, though—even though his phone was charging, back at Hinata Inn, he was looking for them and they were looking for him.

By the time Haitani and Shirai were within a hundred yards of the ramen bar, Keitaro had thrown away his garbage and was back on his bicycle.

He joined them within a few seconds but without more than a few words of greeting. They reciprocated the near-silence—none of them were interested in talking. All of them were interested in taking the journey laid out before them.

It took them a few moments to locate the dusty, rarely-trodden roads that led from the town to the more distant farms in the area. Once they did, though, it was a simple matter to follow the perfectly straight paths into the wilderness, and so they began to move a bit faster.

Keitaro's helmet covered not only his head, but his face as well. A thick, semi-transparent visor protected him from the elements and injury, and in that sense it was a wonderful thing—but on the other hand, it stopped the wind from striking his face. So, even though Keitaro and his friends were biking at a full fifteen miles per hour easily, Keitaro felt insulated in his helmet—almost separated from the rest of the world, as if his universe consisted only of that which was contained by his helmet itself.

Keitaro didn't take his helmet off, of course—that would be reckless. But, eventually, he flipped the visor up—and he did not regret doing so.

Since it was still relatively early in the afternoon, it was quite bright—that was the first thing Keitaro realized when the polarized length of treated plastic that normally rested before his eyes was moved away. It was, in fact, so bright that the colors around him seemed enhanced, as if being in such unadultered sunlight saturated them somehow. The diffuse tan of the road, the off-gray of the chunks of gravel that stuck from it at all haphazard angles, the dusky green of the rolling fields of barley passing them by… there was so much color around Keitaro that for a moment, he had to blink rapidly.

The whole time, though, he kept riding. And as he grew accustomed to his surroundings, now that they were uninhibited by his visor, he started to go faster. Within moments, he was pulling away from Haitani and Shirai, and they had to pedal hard to keep up, but Keitaro didn't slow down or maintain his pace—he only went faster.

And now, the carefully-maintained farmlands were starting to fall behind them. The neat, organized lines that defined property limits were starting to give way to forests, endless forests filled with trees, boulders, and mountains. At the moment, the mountains were still hills and there was still a road to follow, but that wouldn't last for long. Soon, Keitaro and his friends would be in pure wilderness, in the midst of unadulterated nature.

There, they'd find mountains, to be certain, and treacherous "trails" that were defined as they were made. Perhaps they'd find the shrine resting on Haitani's family's land, and maybe—just maybe—Keitaro would find something there that would help him climb out of the dark cloud that had consumed him since he'd gotten his test back.

* * *

It was about 4:30 when they finally took a break. Keitaro was panting, just a little, so perhaps unsurprisingly, Haitani and Shirai were each essentially gasping for oxygen. At lower altitudes, they'd be able to breath normally much more quickly, but the fact as that they were now rather high above sea level.

In fact, they were just a hundred feet or so below the clouds.

Biking uphill was difficult, Keitaro thought, but it was a Hell of a workout and a great way to practice for the Yokohama Invitational. That race was renowned across the world for not being strictly downhill, as most mountain bike races were; rather, there were several uphill portions in the YI and Keitaro would have to excel at, or at least hold his own in each of them if he wanted to stand a chance of placing.

Within a few moments, Haitani and Shirai were breathing normally. By this point, Keitaro had taken a seat on a moss-covered boulder that jutted out of the ground at an oblique angle and was drinking some water. His friends joined him, and, shortly, the three of them had a chance to enjoy their surroundings in a way that they couldn't when they were pushing themselves up and across sheer mountainsides.

It was so quiet there—that was the first thing that struck Keitaro. He could hear himself breathing as well as his friends, and when they came to rest next to him in silence, he could hear them drinking their water. After a few moments, he could hear his own heart beating, too; at least he could feel the familiar rhythmic pulse in his fingertips that signaled the flow of blood through his body.

It was so peaceful—that was the second thing that struck Keitaro. Apart from the silence, everything was so still that it was as if Keitaro was looking at a massive, perfect painting splayed out before him. If there were animals in the area, they kept quiet and still, because Keitaro couldn't detect them no matter how hard he tried. The only thing that was moving was a river, hundreds of feet below them, in a valley that cut its way through the mountains.

Apart from that glassy, semi-transparent blue surface, the only colors Keitaro could see were green and gray and brown. This didn't bore him, though, because each color was represented with such a variety of shades that everywhere he looked, he found himself entranced in some new, unexpected way. From the foreboding verdant hues of shrubbery and leaves and ferns, to the opaque, textured sienna of the endless trees, to the harsh, sleek backdrop of the stones that formed the land itself, everything Keitaro set his eyes on was so beautiful that for a moment, it wasn't the altitude alone that was making it hard for him to breathe.

Ten minutes passed, but not a word passed between Keitaro and his friends. After that, Keitaro broke the silence—slightly—by getting off the rock and resting on his knees for a moment, facing the majesty before him.

He'd never been a religious guy. His mother was a semi-observant Christian and his father sort of followed the conglomerate beliefs most Japanese did, after living in Islamabad for several years with its people and its culture, they had adopted some of the tenants of the Islamic faith as well.

Keitaro's beliefs were a confused combination of all of these things. At various times in his life, he'd identified as an agnostic, an apatheist, and an atheist before he'd simply given up on trying to label himself. Now, Keitaro wasn't sure if he believed in any God, life force, or spiritual power… but he was sure that if anything supernatural existed, it existed in man, and it also existed in nature.

Sometimes, when Keitaro was biking, he fell into almost trance-like states. This wasn't to say that he became sub-conscious—and he certainly didn't become unconscious—but he did experience out-of-body sensations, and at times, he was able to do things that, looking back, he really couldn't explain at all.

Perhaps, in those rare experiences, Keitaro was _super_-conscious. Perhaps he was in such harmony with the rest of the universe that conscious thought itself was an impediment to action.

Perhaps if he could find out how to attenuate himself to the rest of the universe more easily, he could become a better biker. Perhaps he could even become a better person.

Keitaro looked down at the soil before him. It was somewhat volcanic and mixed with the remains of an eon's worth of birth, growth, and death. The remains of thousands of plants and animals were in the dirt, and they were mixed inextricably from the burned remains of Keitaro's ancestors.

Japan was his fatherland, after all. His ancestors had lived there for thousands of years, and their blood flowed in his veins, so in that view Japan itself flowed in his veins.

Keitaro pressed his hands into the soil. He shut his eyes and didn't move for a long time.

When he withdrew his hands, he noted that they were perfectly clean.

* * *

"So—any idea where this place actually is, Haitani?"

"Not really," Haitani replied. "My dad went to it once when he was a kid, but he doesn't remember where it was or how to get there… just that it was pretty high in the mountains."

"If that's the case," Keitaro said, "even if it's not up here, we might be able to see it and come back for it another time."

The possibility that they might not find that objective that night was disappointing, but the fact was that Haitani's family owned quite a lot of land, and there were any number of locations where the shrine could be. The region itself was relatively secluded, and if the shrine itself was in a forest of some sort, then it was so isolated that nothing less than an exhaustive search of the whole area could be expected to yield any results.

Maybe in the future it would be possible to request high resolution satellite photos of the area. Maybe those could yield the location of the shrine, but until such a thing was possible, Keitaro and his friends had to search on foot.

It was no chore, though. After resting for some time, they'd decided to leave their bikes behind, marking their location with a GPS program Haitani had on his phone. It was easier to climb on foot, and safer, too, particularly as the mountain grew steeper and rockier.

After they passed through cloud cover, though, the mountain leveled off rapidly. It was clear that they were approaching the top; just a few hundred more yards through the tall deep green forests and they'd be there. If it hadn't been for the trees themselves, the view from above the clouds would have been stunning, but the fact was that there were precious flew locations that offered half-decent visibility of anything.

That was alright, though. The clouds seemed to buffer out the air (and light) pollution of civilization, meaning that the air up there was perfectly clear and clean—even in comparison to the bracing mountain air just below the clouds. Apart from that, there were still a few hours of light left in the day, so Keitaro and his friends had at least some time to search before they had to head back home.

Just then, they came to the top of the mountain. Haitani and Shirai were already breathing hard again, so Keitaro had a few yards' worth of a lead on them—and that was why he stopped for a few seconds before they caught up to him.

They wouldn't need the one or two hours they could have budgeted to find the shrine. There it was, right before them: a relic from a hundred years before, one which had withheld against the tests of time, weather and war. A traditional _tori_ arched gate marked the entrance to a miniscule building almost hidden from sight within a crux of trees. Kanji markings set in stone near to the entrance made it clear that the shrine belonged to Haitani's family.

"Wow," Shirai said, as he made his way a bit closer to the building. "I didn't think we'd actually find it. But… here it is."

"Yeah… it's almost like a living piece of history, when you think about it," Haitani said. "My great-great-grandfather built this place… that's what my dad said, anyway. He built it with his own hands, even though his family was well-off—he carried every piece of wood and stone up here and built it from the ground up. That's what my dad said, and I wasn't sure I believed it, but now… I think I do," he admitted. "I think my great-great-grandfather built this place like that so that a hundred years after he died, his descendants would be able to come here so that he could see them. And here I am," Haitani said. "Here I am…"

He looked at each of his friends for a moment. Then, he took off his shoes and made his way into the shrine.

* * *

Kitsune had gone to Keitaro's room at 4 o'clock to let him know that it was time to get ready for the evening ahead. She had planned to give him just a little preview of her plans, just to keep his interest in the events to come—and her—at a maximum. They'd go to Yokohama, she'd planned to tell him, where she knew of a nice sushi bar where they could start the night. After that, there was a karaoke place not far from there, and after that… well, he'd have to wait to see what would come after that.

She'd planned to take him to a restaurant—a nice restaurant—and she'd insist on paying. After all, she'd planned to point out, she knew that Keitaro didn't exactly make a lot of money on her and their housemates' rent, but she'd just secured a nice bonus after one of her articles had become unexpectedly popular online. This comment would segue into a discussion about Kitsune's career path and how well it was doing, and the whole time along, Keitaro would find himself thinking of Kitsune in ways he wasn't given to thinking about her.

But Keitaro hadn't been in his room. He hadn't been there when Kitsune had returned at five, either, or six, and he hadn't responded to her texts or calls—and it was then that Kitsune saw that Keitaro had left his phone in his room.

His gear and bike were missing, though. And yet he wasn't in the chunk of land behind Hinata Inn.

In other words, he was fully and completely gone, and there was no way to get in touch with him. She had no idea where he'd gone or why, or who he'd gone with, or when he'd be back.

She did know, however, that he'd gone with the full knowledge that he was cancelling the plans he'd made with Kitsune in the rudest way.

This was a bump in the road for Kitsune.

She'd find a way to work around it somehow, she told herself, and it changed nothing. Her goals were the same and the lengths she was willing to go to in order to obtain them were the same, and so it was just a complete coincidence that she felt sick to her stomach.

Within five minutes, Kitsune had packed her gym bag. After that, she made her way to the pool and she started to swim.

She didn't stop at seven o'clock or eight, or nine. At ten o'clock, Kitsune did stop—to throw up into the nearest trashcan she could find.

* * *

Haitani had entered and left the shrine. Shirai was still inside it.

Light had long left the sky by the time it was Keitaro's turn to go into the shrine, and so getting down to level ground was a concern—and getting back home was another thing altogether.

The fact was, though, now that they had reached the shrine, they couldn't leave—not until each of them had had a chance to go in. Apart from that, spending time in the shrine, meditating or praying, was simply not something that could be rushed. So, there was simply no getting around the fact that Keitaro and his friends would leave when they were finished, and not a moment before.

And so Keitaro and Haitani sat patiently not far from the shrine, waiting for Shirai to finish. They didn't talk much—mostly, they enjoyed the fresh and increasingly cold mountain air and the silence of the darkening forest. Their lives, too often, were so busy and chaotic that chances to simply relax and enjoy stillness for a few hours were few and far between, so now that they were given an opportunity to just sit in silent awe of their surroundings, they seized it.

Eventually, Shirai left the shrine. That meant that it was Keitaro's turn to go inside.

So, he stood up with the sort of athletic fluidity that one might expect someone with his hobbies to have. He approached the shrine, paused to take his shoes off, and then made his way under the arched gateway to go inside.

In the decades that had passed since its last use before that day, the shrine must have endured… come to think of it, Keitaro realized, it might not have endured that much after all. They were above the clouds, after all, so it couldn't rain there much, and apart from that there was limited animal life in the area. In the several hours that had passed since they'd located the shrine, Keitaro had only seen a handful of sparrows, and that was all.

So maybe there was a naturalistic explanation for the fact that the shrine was perfectly clean. There wasn't a pine needle on the ground, nor a speck of dirt, nor the inch-thick layer of dust that Keitaro had expected to find.

Keitaro entered the shrine.

A long, long time later, he walked out of it, and then he and his friends started the long, treacherous journey down the mountain in the dark.

For Keitaro, though, the voyage was even more dangerous, and that was because his mind wasn't where it ought to be. Instead, it was on the face of the girl he'd seen in the shrine with such clarity he could swear that she was real.

* * *

(Hails to Shane McGowan Lives; he beta'd this chapter for me.

Anyway, as always, I hope you're enjoying this so far. The next chapter will, as you might expect, focus on Keitaro and Kitsune, although I do expect for Naru to play an important role in what goes on.

Remember to review and tell me your comments on how things are going… see you next chapter.)


	8. Chapter 8

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Eight

* * *

(There will be some foul language in this chapter, so please be prepared for that. Also, please be prepared to use Youtube to search for a certain something… I won't say much more, except that if you understand Urdu/Hindi this chapter may be especially enjoyable for you.)

* * *

Keitaro had had the advantage of living a privileged life. He'd never wanted for much, but he'd received everything that he could ever have desired. Through the years, his parents had given him not only a safe, stable home and the encouragement he needed to realize himself, they'd ensured that he got the best education he possibly could. From a young age, his mother had taught him basic math and history; when he'd grown a bit older and his father's career had calmed down, Keitaro's father had also participated in his education.

And then, when he started to realize how much he adored being on two wheels, his parents had never hesitated to buy him the best bikes on the market.

He was grateful for all of these things—he truly, truly was. And despite having a wonderful life essentially handed to him on a silver platter, Keitaro didn't let it get to his head. He wasn't spoiled, at least he didn't act like it, and he made sure that a cut of the money he got from biking went to charity. At other points in his life, he'd worked in soup kitchens and free medical clinics, and he'd even organized a blood drive in Islamabad that had a turnout of two hundred and some people.

That was because Keitaro knew how to budget his time. He almost never stood up in the afternoon and wondered where they day had gone—he knew, somehow, how to seize each day and make the most of it. Sometimes that meant hitting the books or the bike, and sometimes that meant spending time with friends or family, and other times it simply meant relaxing and walking around town, but Keitaro had always felt that if he were to die on a random day, he'd have no regrets before he plunged into oblivion, because every day he spent alive was a day he spent wisely.

But after taking Saturday off completely, Keitaro needed to get his game face on.

He'd slept in a bit on Sunday, sure, but after that he'd studied until noon, eaten, and then biked until the sun began to set. He'd then eaten again, and this time he headed out to a nearby health food store to pick up some protein powder. He loathed the taste of the stuff (or, more accurately, the aftertaste—to him, it was rather reminiscent of mucus), but he needed to ensure that he was getting enough protein to slim down and maintain his muscular makeup. It wasn't that Keitaro was overweight at all—far from it—but every pound was a liability, and Keitaro could afford to lose a few.

Sunday was seized, and Monday was even better. He'd woken up early to spend some time with Shinobu—late on Sunday, the young girl had asked him for help with homework which he was only too glad to give. After that, he'd eaten a big breakfast, and hit the books again, this time with Naru. After all, he'd devoted the day before to math, and math was something Keitaro could only ever study alone. History, English, and Japanese, however, were best studied with company, and Keitaro couldn't ask for a better study partner than Naru…

… even if should could be a piece of work sometimes.

"No, Naru, I'm pretty sure that Ford came after Nixon."

"That's bullshit," Naru said dismissively. "I know my American history, and Carter was definitely after Nixon."

Wincing at the use of foul language, Keitaro looked at the stubborn brunette before him for a moment, then reached for his phone. After a few deft moments of Googling, he held out his phone so that Naru could see it.

"See, Ford was definitely after Nixon," Keitaro said. He smiled in a satisfied way, and drew his hand back.

"So you're trusting a Wikipedia article?" Naru scoffed. She looked flustered, but fixed Keitaro with a baleful glare.

Keitaro just groaned and fiddled with his phone for a moment, before nodding and holding it out to Naru again.

"This one's the White House's actual website. See, _Ford_ came after Nixon, not Carter."

Naru looked at the webpage before her and then lightly shoved Keitaro's hand away.

"This just proves that I'm right," she said. "Carter _was_ after Nixon, wasn't he? I didn't say that he was _right_ after Nixon."

"For crying out loud," Keitaro said in English, an exclamation he'd learned from his mother. "But you did say that Ford being after Nixon was bull—was BS," Keitaro pointed out.

Naru couldn't deflect that easily, so she just stood up.

"Whatever," she said. "Why are you asking me all these history questions if you're going to ignore the answers?" she demanded, but Keitaro just looked at her, shook his head, and elected to not reply.

She walked away from the squat table in the center of her room to get a drink of water from a bottle she'd kept nearby. She was angry, there was no denying it, and it was all that damned Urashima's fault. The conniving bastard was a master manipulator; he even managed to twist language itself so that words didn't mean what she intended for them to mean. In this way, he was able to snatch semantics victories from the jaws of defeat even when all logic suggested that he ought to give up and show a little humility for once.

She hated him. She had hated him from the first moment she'd laid eyes on him, and she hated him more every day. What the bastard had just done to Kitsune certainly didn't change his standing in Naru's eyes; if anything it made him seem even worse to her, but even she knew that he'd gotten into the heads of Motoko, Shinobu, and Suu. Getting him booted out at this stage would not be easy, even if he had been incredibly rude to Kitsune—she'd have to have more evidence against him if she wanted to achieve her goals.

She had to move quickly, though. The longer Keitaro stayed, the more damage he was likely to do; Kitsune was Keitaro's first major casualty, but she wouldn't be the last if Naru let him have his way.

Unfortunately, though, she seemed to have put him off because he was standing up and making some excuse to leave. Naru knew she'd made a mistake by disagreeing so vehemently with Keitaro, but there was no taking it back now. She'd have to make it up to him later, at cram school—for now, she just waved him off with an apologetic smile, as if she was actually sorry.

As if she was actually sorry.

* * *

"Jeez," Keitaro muttered to himself as he made his way down the stairs to get to his room. "Maybe there is some sense to the saying, 'Bitches be crazy.'"

"Did you say something, Urashima?"

Keitaro looked up and found himself face to face with Motoko. He immediately flushed and laughed, trying to buy time for himself.

"Oh, haha, nothing at all," Keitaro said. "I, uhm, it's a really nice day, but I'm stuck inside studying for a few more hours, hahaha; anyway, uhm, how are you doing?"

Motoko just fixed Keitaro with a cold glare. This was surprising—generally, Motoko was cordial and polite with Keitaro, and even friendly at times. The only times she was at all upset or short with him were when he'd forgotten to do his chores, and he couldn't blame her for that—but now, she was clearly angry with him, but why?

"Life goes well for me," Motoko said, "but that's because I'm a warrior, and a warrior never forgets her responsibilities—not the ones she was born with, nor the ones she accepts on her own. Forgetting one's responsibilities…" Motoko shook her head. "It's a dishonorable thing. Remember that, Urashima—it's a very dishonorable thing."

Just once, Keitaro wanted to ask Motoko to speak frankly instead of in the riddle-like quotations she seemed to pull out of thin air. He knew, however, that such a request was likely to be met with a blank stare or perhaps an even more cryptic and long-winded "explanation" of why a warrior ought not speak frankly.

So, Keitaro decided to let it go—for the most part, anyway.

He assumed a neutral facial expression, set his books down on the step next to him, and bowed to Motoko serenely.

"Thank you for the advice, Aoyama-sama," he said solemnly. "I'll be sure to follow it to the letter."

"Good," Motoko said, clearly not noticing Keitaro's sarcasm. "See that you do, Urashima, and maybe you can limit the damage you've caused."

"_The damage I've caused? What damage?"_ Keitaro asked to himself. That was about as close to speaking frankly Motoko had ever gotten, but Keitaro still had no idea what she was talking about.

He brushed it off, though, and continued on to his room. Once there, he got back to studying, albeit with only half a mind.

The girls had been rather cold to him over the past day or so—that was to say, the older girls, anyway. Suu hadn't changed, and neither had Shinobu, but Motoko and Naru had been treating him with a certain amount of malice, and Kitsune… Keitaro hadn't even seen Kitsune since Saturday or so, now that he thought about it.

He wondered why, but only briefly. It was almost noon, so he had only so much time left to study before lunch would distract him. After that, he'd have to go biking, and then, it would be time to head to cram school.

Life was busy for Keitaro, but at least he was being productive. At least his dreams—both of them—were getting closer to realization every day.

* * *

After the mock exam, students had been allowed to pick and choose what classes they wanted to attend. Since Keitaro had done so abysmally in math but so well (not just comparatively, but in absolute terms) on the other sections, he went to math classes instead of other classes perhaps 50% of the time. 25% of the time, he went to Japanese classes, and he rotated the rest of the time between English, history, and various science courses.

This meant, of course, that he spent rather a lot of time in the same room as Professor Nawaz. This was even more noticeable thanks to the fact that the rest of the school seemed to be performing rather strongly in math—a lot of the time, Keitaro was one of only two dozen or less students taking Professor Nawaz's classes.

It was, come to think of it, quite strange that Keitaro had failed the math section so badly. As Monday turned into Tuesday, then Wednesday, then Thursday, he found that he was perhaps the number one math student _in the whole school_, but he didn't feel any better at math than he had on the day of the mock exam.

Maybe he just tested very badly when it came to math.

He'd mentioned this to the Professor Wednesday evening between classes, when the two of them had gone to a nearby ramen bar to get some food. And so, on Thursday, Keitaro and the rest of the students in Professor Nawaz's class had spent perhaps a third of the evening taking the single most difficult math exam the Professor could put together.

Then, Professor Nawaz had read out the correct answers.

Some of the students had done alright; most had done just barely okay (which was rather good, in fact, considering the difficulty of the test), but Keitaro had gotten a nearly perfect score.

That was how Keitaro convinced himself to stop devoting so much time to math. Classes that week were finished, of course, but over the weekend to come, he'd focus more on other subject areas. If he managed to train himself to perform in them like he performed in math…

Then there would be no doubt about it—even without competing in the Yokohama Invitational, Keitaro could be a shoe-in candidate for Tokyo University.

* * *

Keitaro woke up on Friday in good spirits. It had been an excellent week, though he had barely had a moment to himself. Every last one of his waking hours had been devoted to studying, biking, or chores, so he only had a few moments in between to chat with Shinobu and perhaps engage in an impromptu wrestling match with Suu.

Today, though, he could afford to relax a bit. After eating a nice large breakfast, Keitaro thought, he'd study for a few hours and then go biking for some time. After that, maybe he'd hit the gym to do some weight lifting, and maybe in the evening he could call Haitani and Shirai to see if they had any plans for the weekend or if there were any interesting movies coming out or something like that.

Then again, Keitaro thought, he didn't have to do weight training at the gym. He could go swimming instead; after all, there was a nice large pool there, wasn't there, and he wouldn't have to pay to get in because Kitsune's membership plan allowed her to take guests every so often.

Kitsune… Keitaro had barely seen her over the past week. These days, he ate dinner in his room, but since he was out and about so often, he usually saw the inn's other residents, but not Kitsune. He had barely seen a glimpse of her or two as he passed her room in the hall, and even when he said hello to her, she didn't seem to notice him.

Now why would that be? It wasn't as if anything had happened… between… them…

And that was when Keitaro remembered.

Saturday, he'd gone out with his friends, but originally, he'd planned for a night out with Kitsune. He'd forgotten about it completely, and since he'd left his phone at home she hadn't been able to call him—and now it was _Friday_ and he hadn't apologized to her yet!

Keitaro had been brushing his teeth when he realized this. Usually, it took him about a minute to do this, but he finished as quickly as he could. Then, he threw on the nearest set of clothes he could find and sprinted downstairs as quickly as he could go.

Someone had opened the windows in the downstairs living room, and outside it was a wonderful, sunny day. A gentle breeze kept the air in the house fresh, and Keitaro breathed deeply of it for a moment to try to gather his nerves before knocking on Kitsune's door.

There was a pause. It was as if Kitsune was wondering who on Earth could want to talk to her at such an odd hour—after all, Naru, Shinobu, and Suu were at school, and Motoko was training as usual, and there was certainly no one else in the inn who could possibly want to talk to her.

That thought made Keitaro wince. He'd messed up bigtime, and he knew it. He'd insulted and saddened Kitsune, and now, six days after the fact, was there really anything he could do to make it up to her?

"Come in," Kitsune answered—and so, Keitaro opened the door and tried to smile.

The moment they met eyes, Kitsune looked away. She was sitting at her desk and apparently working on some article for her newspaper, and whereas in the past Kitsune's room had always been rather messy, mostly with empty bottles of alcohol, now, it was rather clean and well-organized. Keitaro looked around for a moment, as if for inspiration, but nothing came to him.

"H-hey," he said nervously. "Good morning, Kitsune…"

"What do you want?" Kitsune asked curtly. She didn't face Keitaro—she acted as if he wasn't there, continuing to type on her keyboard so that new lines of text appeared in the computer screen before her.

"Uhm, I just wanted to say sorry," Keitaro said, "about Saturday. I'd forgotten about our plans completely, and when my friends called, I went with them—and my phone was out of charge. And over the past week, I've been so busy that everything about Saturday completely slipped my mind."

"Yeah, right," Kitsune scoffed. "I'm sure that's exactly what happened. And I'm also sure that when you got your phone again, all the calls and texts I sent you just magically didn't show up, did they?"

"Well, they didn't," Keitaro said in a very weak voice. "I, err, guess it's some setting or a bug that has to be fixed…"

His voice trailed off as he realized that Kitsune wasn't looking at him. "Whatever," she said, and that meant that she didn't believe him—_he_ wouldn't believe him, he realized, and that meant that it was time to stop making excuses.

"Kitsune, I'm truly sorry," Keitaro said. "I—there's no excuse for what happened. I'll—I'll make it up to you," he said. "Just… let's go into town—or even Yokohama. I'll take you shopping—my treat," he said.

Kitsune didn't budge a muscle. She just kept typing.

"Not interested," she said. "Just… leave me alone, Keitaro. I've got a lot of work to do."

Keitaro winced when she said that. He didn't leave, though, because he knew that there _had_ to be something he could do or say to make things between himself and Kitsune better—and that's when he thought about it.

He grinned and stepped forward, just a little, halfway entering Kitsune's room. That made her glance back, as if asking him what he was doing in her room right after she'd specifically told him to leave her alone.

"I'll tell you what," Keitaro said, "it's a Friday night. Why don't we go barhopping?" Keitaro suggested. "Drinks on me—you can get anything you want, as much as you want. Vodka, whiskey, scotch, bourbon, beer—the sky's the limit! You can get as wasted as you want, I don't care!"

Keitaro had thought that that would have made Kitsune grin, at least a little, and tell him to give her until the afternoon to finish working. At best, she'd insist on going out then and there, and Keitaro would have to spend the rest of the day with her—but he could not have anticipated the reaction he got.

Kitsune stopped typing. For a moment, she just sat still—then, she stood up, slowly closing her laptop as she turned around to face Keitaro.

She'd gotten a lot more fit in the past weeks, he realized. It wasn't that Kitsune had ever been fat or even that out of shape, but now she was lean and toned, and when she stood like that with her fists clenched, glaring at him, she was actually quite intimidating.

And when she spoke to him like that, through gritted teeth, each word itself was an assault.

"Get," Kitsune said, "out."

Keitaro took a step back reflexively. He stopped himself from retreating wholesale, though, and held up his bare hands to show that he was no threat to her.

"B-but Kitsune, I—" he began, but Kitsune crossed the distance between them in three steps and shoved him into the hallway.

Keitaro stumbled back, stunned at what had happened. But judging by the expression on Kitsune's face, he was lucky that she'd only shoved him.

"Leave me the Hell alone," she snarled. "Just… fuck off."

She stepped back and slammed the door shut so sharply that the resulting _bang_ made Keitaro jump.

Kitsune had changed, he realized. She wasn't a drunken slut—she never had been, but now, more than ever, she was a person with a life, dreams, and emotions, and he hadn't treated her like that at all—not on Saturday, when he'd forgotten about her entirely, and not now, when he treated her like an animal that became happy when it was given alcohol. He'd messed up, and now, it looked like he might not be able to fix things—ever.

* * *

Naru had spent a long, tiring, annoying day at school. Since she was not only good-looking, but one of the very best students in her year in all of Japan, she had no shortage of attention from the other gender. Most of the time, she just ignored it; sometimes, though, a firm "no thank you" wasn't enough to keep the guys off of her. Sometimes, sharper words were needed, and sometimes, words alone weren't enough to drive her points home.

So, she stepped onto the bus home in a foul mood, and when she stepped off of it and into Hinata Springs, she was in barely better spirits. It was just as well that Hinata Springs wasn't the sort of town that was likely to attract many young guys, because all it would take to set Naru off was _one_ word out of place.

It might not even take one word. Perhaps seeing the wrong expression on a male face could drive Naru to fists, and, come to that, there were a few faces in particular that Naru was sure she couldn't stand if they were to appear before her now—

"Hey, Naru, what's up? How was school?"

She recognized his voice and took a few seconds to breathe in and out, slowly, before turning to face Keitaro. He was approaching her from town and the way he was dressed, plus his still-damp hair suggested that he'd just been swimming. That made Naru's eyes narrow, but she managed to smile a little bit.

"The usual," she said vaguely, as Keitaro fell into step beside her. "So, I can't really say that I have anything to tell you about it."

"Excellent, excellent," Keitaro said in such a tone that made it clear to Naru that he wasn't at all listening to her—and why would he? A guy like him was an egomaniac and not likely to care about anyone but himself, ever.

For a moment, though, they managed to sort of enjoy one another's company in silence. They walked side by side through the quiet town, looking at the few passersby who were out and about at that time. Naru felt herself relax, just a little; she'd never particularly enjoyed the chaos and close quarters of cities or even packed school buildings, so leaving school to come home to such relative peace was certainly therapeutic for her.

Keitaro, on the other hand, realized for the umpteenth time how marvelously_ clean_ Japan was. There wasn't a scrap of paper littering the street, nor a hastily spat out bit of gum on the sidewalk, nor anything similar to the amount and distribution of trash he was used to seeing in his home country. Every building, every street was scrubbed so clean that they almost shone, and Keitaro knew that if there was one thing he could bring to Pakistan from Japan, it was cleanliness.

For the moment, though, Keitaro had more pressing concerns. And to attend to them, he'd need Naru's help.

"Naru," Keitaro said, "by any chance… are you interested in equestrianism? Horseback riding?"

That was an odd question, and it made Naru glance at Keitaro curiously.

"I guess so," she answered. "I have some experience with it… why?"

"Great," Keitaro said. "Because I need a big, big favor from you."

* * *

"Make sure you keep your back straight, Kitsune. If you maintain a good posture, it's a lot easier to get the animal to respond to you—there you go."

"Wow, you're right, that makes a huge difference," Kitsune said. "Thanks for bringing me out here, Naru. I didn't like the idea of being around a smelly, hairy horse for very long at first, but this is sort of fun."

It was late Saturday morning, about an hour away from Hinata Springs by train. Naru and Kitsune were in the mountains; in fact, they weren't so very far from Haitani's family's land and the shrine Keitaro and his friends had found there. Naru had once attended horseback riding lessons there what felt like a lot longer than the five years ago it had been. She'd been surprised to find out that the ranch was still operating—the couple who ran it had been old when Naru had taken lessons from them; now, they were ancient.

They were also glad to see her after so long, and happy to hear that she was making the most of her life. Apart from that, the old man had shared a few quiet words with her when his wife had been busy helping Kitsune select the equipment she'd need for the day, and those few words had told Naru that everything was ready.

One horse in particular, a big, dark animal with a stern temperament, was missing, and Naru knew why. She also knew that it would be the horse that was missing, and that was a vital part of her plan.

Everything was set, though; everything was ready, and all that had to happen was for everything to start.

For now, though, Naru was content to make her way through the woods at a slow trot. She was sure to keep an eye on Kitsune, but the girl was an absolute natural. At first, Naru had though that she'd have to take the reins—literally—but Kitsune had shown, in the space of an hour or so, that she could command a horse rather well, in fact. It was easy for her to get her horse to keep up with Naru, as long as they didn't go too fast.

It was a bit chilly and cloudy that day, and since the two of them were in a valley, if rain came it might get somewhat dangerous for them. However, no rain was predicted that day, so Naru felt comfortable meandering down natural paths in the forest that she hadn't seen in years.

"_I'll be near the biggest lake in the area,"_ he'd said to her. _"Once you get there, I'll come to you… just don't let Kitsune get away."_

Naru led Kitsune around for perhaps an hour before she began to purposefully head towards a particular grove of trees that she recognized as well as she'd have recognized the back of her own hand. Behind it, she knew, was a large but shallow lake, and there, it seemed, he would come to them.

"Alright, Mr. Urashima," Naru said, "let's see what you've got in store."

* * *

"It's not that I'm against bringing a ton of really expensive gear into the middle of nowhere and running it off of a generator," Haitani said, "but I wish you'd tell us what's going on here. Shit—was that a raindrop? Quick, help me get the tarps on everything—"

"It wasn't a raindrop, Haitani, just your imagination," Keitaro said. "Anyway, thanks for all this—seriously, I mean. I owe you for this."

"Ah, don't worry about it," Haitani replied. "At this point, I just want to find out what the Hell's going on here."

"Me, too," Shirai said uncertainly. "Are you sure you're comfortable with what you're doing? Fire breathing isn't exactly safe, and doing it while riding on horseback is pretty much reckless, dude."

"I'll be okay," Keitaro replied. He grinned at each of his friends, and, a moment later, hopped up onto the horse he'd appropriated from the ranch perhaps three hours before. "Trust me. Now—is everything ready, Haitani? Can you test it all just one last time?"

Haitani was sitting next to Shirai in a small group of bushes with his laptop at the ready. Leading from it were a rat's nest of cables—perhaps a dozen reached off in all directions. Toward their destinations, whatever they were, a number of other cables also reached, but these lead from a nearby gas generator.

After all, a fair amount of power was needed for what was going on there. The logistics of an operation like this were nothing to sneeze at, and the fact that Keitaro and his friends had managed to get it together after just a few hours of planning was nothing short of a miracle.

Perhaps the most surprising thing of them all was that Keitaro had managed to dress for the occasion.

Sure, it had taken a trip to Tokyo to get it done, but Keitaro had been successful. He'd managed to find a clothing store that specialized in exotic sorts of apparel—in particular, the sorts of things people were likely to wear in his home country.

For that reason, Keitaro was dressed in a perfectly-fitting salwar kameez. Over it, he wore a patterned, red and gold vest, and on his head wore a black turban Afghan style, with a shamla starched and sticking up like a peacock's tail to symbolize bravery. He also wore sandals, but these he'd brought from home—they'd been handmade by a miniscule shop in Peshawar, and were the one souvenir Keitaro had from that treacherous (and, he had to admit, rather unwise) journey.

For a moment, Keitaro trotted around his friends, just to stave off excess energy. He was getting antsy, and the girls were liable to come by at any time—and then, they'd truly see if all of their efforts would result in success.

"Tests passed," Haitani piped up, a moment later. "Everything's ready to rock and roll. Just tell me when to start, and after that… well, good luck, with whatever you're doing."

Keitaro replied with a grin and adjusted his turban. He checked his horse, who he'd specifically selected for its power and majesty, and then he checked that he had the lighter and bottle of paraffin he'd kept in one of his vest's pockets. Shirai had a fire extinguisher on hand, but the amount of time it would take him to get to Keitaro if something really bad happened… there was no mistaking it. If Keitaro messed up, he could easily severely burn himself.

It was a risk, but a calculated one. Half the time, Keitaro would be riding within a few yards of the lake, so if the worst really did happen, he could embarrass himself rather than killing himself.

For a moment, Keitaro simply trotted back and forth, warming his horse up for the moments to come. He tried to enjoy the bracing mountain climate and the welcome coolness of the climate, as well as the relative darkness of their surroundings despite the hour. It wouldn't be long before Naru and Kitsune showed up—

There. There they were—they were right there, a few hundred yards away, approaching from a path that led from the nearby depths of the valley itself.

That meant that it was time to go.

Keitaro took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then, he looked at Haitani meaningfully—and then he nudged his horse's sides with his heels and rode off at near top speed.

* * *

"Good luck!" Haitani called after Keitaro, before maximizing Winamp in his laptop.

The playlist was already prepared, so Haitani clicked the play icon and sat back, exhaling quietly.

"You know," he mentioned to Shirai, "my dad was once stationed in Pakistan for a few years, but I barely stepped out of doors when I was there. I sort of wish I had… then, maybe I'd know what 'Tu Mujhe Kabool' means."

* * *

Kitsune was glad to let Naru take the lead. While she seemed to be quite good at horseback riding, this was still her first time doing it ever; on the other hand, Naru had a reasonable amount of experience with it. If Kitsune simply encouraged her steed to follow Naru's every so often, she was free to look around as she desired. Certainly, their surroundings were quite a change of scene for her—she rarely left the familiar suburbs of Hinata Springs, or the cityscape of Yokohama or Tokyo, so being in the mountains like this was quite a treat for her.

As they approached a large, calm lake, Kitsune found herself almost smiling. She'd worked hard over the past week, mostly to get _him_ out of her mind, so it was nice to relax and let her hair down a little—

A terrible, screeching sound exploded from the nearby trees, causing birds to fly into the air in alarm and almost causing Kitsune to fall off her horse. She would have, in fact, if Naru hadn't taken the reins from her and calmed both of their horses down at the same time, keeping the spooked animals from running away.

What on Earth was happening, though? The distorted noise continued to blast through the forest, but Naru was sitting still, as cool as a cucumber, wearing—were those earplugs?

"Hey, what the Hell is going on?" Kitsune demanded. "Naru, do you know what this is?"

Kitsune looked at Naru for an explanation, but Naru simply shook her head and plastered on a bewildered expression that Kitsune _knew_ was fake, so she simply sighed in frustration and looked elsewhere to try to figure out what was happening.

Then, the screeching stopped—at least, it changed, into an almost rhythmic pattern of sounds. And then, low frequency bursts of noise exploded through the valley, as if they were drums, as if this was—

"Hey—is this music or something?"

Naru didn't answer.

But then, just before the two girls, a lone horseman appeared. His steed was rather larger and more powerful and either Naru's or Kitsune's, and he seemed to be dressed strangely. Kitsune couldn't tell for certain, though, because he was riding quite hard. He began to circle the lake, approaching Naru and Kitsune, and that was when he started to sing.

"Tu mujhe kabool," he called. "Me tujhe kabool."

"Tu mujhe kabool," he repeated. "Me tujhe kabool.

"Is baat ka, gawah Khuda! Khuda gawah… Khuda gawah."

Kitsune had no idea what was going on—she was still very confused, but, to be honest, the approaching horseman was a pretty good vocalist, even if she had no idea what he was saying or even what language it was in. So, she continued to watch with increasing interest as he continued to get closer.

He repeated what appeared the be the song's verse, but he managed to do this while _standing on top of his horse_. He held the reins with one hand, utterly confident as he continued to ride his horse hard and fast, holding one arm out to his side.

At first, Kitsune thought this was so that he could keep his balance, but she then realized that he was pointing at her. At _her_ specifically, because at some point, Naru had drawn away from her so that she could greet the approaching horseman alone, whoever he was…

And then Kitsune realized who he was: Urashima Keitaro. Now, he was close enough that she could recognize him through his clothing—there was no mistaking that face or those features, and so for a moment, Kitsune almost glared.

This was before Keitaro arched his back, faced the air, placed something to his mouth…

And spat a ball of fire into the air.

Now, the song's female vocals were playing, and Keitaro certainly wasn't covering those. Instead, he managed to dance on horseback in a style that Kitsune recognized as being vaguely similar to the bhangra style dancing she'd seen in Daler Mehndi's famous Tunak Tunak Tun video.

Truth be told… it looked sort of corny. But there was no doubt that he was putting on quite a show, and that was why Kitsune continued to watch, albeit with folded arms as Keitaro began to sing again.

"Ho koi gulaam, chaahe hai badhshah, ishq ke bagair, zindagi gunaah."

Keitaro sang that particular line again, and the way he looked at Kitsune as he performed it made her think that it was a particularly meaningful lyric.

If only she could understand it!

As they'd planned, Naru had fallen back once Keitaro's performance began so that it was clear that it was for Kitsune. Just then, she was perhaps twenty yards away—far enough that she wasn't intruding, but close enough that she could help in case Kitsune's horse started to act up.

Fortunately, all animals present were behaving quite well, and that meant that Naru was free to almost double over in silent laughter.

The whole thing was so ridiculous, and that Keitaro seriously thought that he'd be able to redeem himself in Kitsune's eyes by dressing like a clown and singing offkey gibberish to her made it doubly ridiculous. His failure was as imminent as it was humorous, but Naru wasn't taking any chances.

The horse Keitaro was riding was called Taro, and he was a brave, obedient steed with a stern disposition towards strangers. True, Keitaro was riding him… well, like a pro, Naru had to admit, but Taro had one weakness.

And that was why Naru was reaching into a fold of the jacket she'd worn that day.

Taro was terribly allergic to wine raspberries, which were somewhat common in the area. Eating even a few might be fatal for him, and from a young age he'd been terrified to death of the miniscule fruits.

Naru happened to have brought along a handful of them, in addition to a handheld slingshot.

She didn't intend to seriously hurt Taro, of course. But she figured that hitting him in the flank with a berry would be enough. Once he smelled it, so close to him, he'd panic—and Keitaro would fall and make an even more complete idiot of himself in front of Kitsune.

For now, though, Naru was just biding her time. Wait for Keitaro to breathe fire again, or do something particularly distracting—and then she'd take the shot.

And then, it would be all over for Keitaro's future at Hinata Inn for good.

Although Kitsune had found the style of music Keitaro was playing rather frightening and annoying at first, it had grown on her quickly. Apart from that, Keitaro was truly an excellent singer—not only was his pitch essentially perfect, he was _loud_. He could actually sing loudly enough that the music didn't drown him out, and that was certainly a feat.

He was doing all this while either riding or standing on a powerful, rapidly moving horse, and he made it look easy. It was marvelous and incredibly impressive, and that was why sooner rather than later, Kitsune was clapping to the music and singing along with the female vocalist, choir style.

She had to admit that she was surprised that Keitaro was so talented. In addition to being a good student and a world class biker, he was an excellent singer, and a pretty good equestrian, too! Soon, she'd have to edit the Wikipedia article for "renaissance man" to include Keitaro's picture.

A vague corner of her mind reminded her that she was mad at Keitaro for having completely forgotten about their plans Saturday night, but a much more conscious part of her mind was telling her that she didn't care. He'd apologized, after all, and when she'd told him off, he hadn't given up—he'd done this for her. That showed serious dedication and attachment on his part, and that meant that he might be… starting to actually like her, as someone who was more than a friend.

* * *

Keitaro had breathed fire two or three times before then, but each time he'd been out of range. Now, though, Naru could feel that the song was coming to an end. When the finale came, she guessed that Keitaro would do something to really up the ante—maybe he'd breathe fire _while_ standing on his horse, or something more than that.

If that happened, he'd be more vulnerable than she could ask for.

Better yet, he was getting closer to Kitsune, and, in the process, Naru herself. He was riding in increasingly tight concentric circles around Kitsune, but at this range, there was no way that Naru would miss. And even if she did, she had as many shots as she needed to hit her mark.

* * *

Although he'd been singing loudly for over five minutes now, Keitaro showed no signs of quieting, slowing, or quitting. He delivered each vocal with as much will as he possibly could so that the pitch was dead on, and his voice rang out through the mountains even when the backing music fell back.

Now that they were approaching the end of the song, though, he had to truly do something impressive if he really wanted to nail the performance. And so, still standing on horseback, he continued to sing—and then, he prepared to breathe fire again.

By this time, he was circling around Kitsune so that he was never more than ten or so yards from her. It was an impressive but not particularly difficult maneuver that allowed him to stay safe and balanced, even as he opened his mouth and poured in some oil.

Keitaro had just held the lighter in front of his mouth, when he felt his horse suddenly jump and start to run away from Kitsune. Unbalanced, Keitaro struggled to stay on his feet, but he couldn't, and he still had oil in his mouth—

He hadn't had a second to decide what to do, but in the end, the decision that he made was the right one. He arched his back and sent a column of fire shooting perhaps ten feet into the air—

And then he backflipped, perfectly, landing on his horse in a seated position.

After taking control of the reins again, he managed to calm his horse down. He wasn't sure what had happened, but something had spooked him badly…

But it was all over now. Keitaro's horse was calm, and the song was over, so, smiling uncertainly, Keitaro made his way back to Kitsune.

He hoped she'd accept his apology now. He sincerely hoped so, because, after all, she was one of his greatest friends.

* * *

Naru watched as her shot hit its mark. She'd fired just as Keitaro had come to face her, and so she had been able to see the small reddish explosion on Taro's torso that marked where her berry had struck.

Not a second later, Taro had reared up, causing Keitaro to wobble dangerously—

But then, impossibly, he'd breathed fire and then _backflipped_ into his saddle. That sort of thing ought not to be possible at all, but he'd done it and he'd done it _perfectly_.

For a moment, Naru simply did not accept what she'd seen. She looked away, she rubbed her eyes, she even pinched herself, but no matter what, her senses told her that Keitaro had landed on Taro as if with the practiced finesse of a competitive horseback rider.

The unfairness of it all made Naru want to scream, but she satisfied herself by biting her tongue—hard enough to draw blood.

She winced at the pain, but it helped her focus. It helped her catch her breath and glare at that bastard, that unjustly smooth sociopath, as he rode closer still to Kitsune…

* * *

Now that the excitement of the moment had worn off, Kitsune realized that she was still somewhat upset with Keitaro. His actions had saddened her, but most of the real anger she felt toward him had fallen away. For that reason, she was willing to hear him talk… but that didn't stop her from folding her arms and looking away as he trotted closer to her, smiling apologetically.

He maneuvered his horse until it was directly across from Kitsune's. By now, they were only perhaps five feet away, and they'd have been looking into one another's eyes if Kitsune's gaze wasn't pointedly directed away from him.

"Hey," Keitaro said, eventually breaking the awkward silence. "Uhm… did you, err, like the performance, Kitsune?"

"…Yeah," Kitsune said a moment later. She slowly looked at Keitaro, though the expression on her face was unreadable, and her eyes were narrowed so severely that Keitaro wasn't sure if they were even open. "It was pretty good… where'd you learn to sing like that?" she asked. "And where'd you learn to ride horses?"

"My mother's a pretty good vocalist," Keitaro said, "so, she taught me the ropes… as for horseback riding, I learned in Islamabad. I used to take lessons every few days… I guess I got pretty good after a while, eh?"

"Yeah," Kitsune said. "You're pretty good at a lot of things."

She smiled at him, then, but it was in such a small, sad sort of way that Keitaro's smile immediately fell. He winced visibly and moved even closer to Kitsune—and then he reached out and placed his hand on her forearm.

"I'm so sorry for forgetting about you Saturday," Keitaro said. "I… there's no excuse for it, but I was just so upset with myself after getting that C—when my friends called, my mind just wasn't in the right place, and I forgot that I have more than two friends in Japan. I know I can't make up for it, but… well, I guess this is just my way of saying sorry," Keitaro said. He grinned awkwardly, and took hold of his reins again. "By dressing up and putting on a miniature Bollywood music video for you."

"Yeah, I wondered about that," Kitsune said in a neutral, as if carefully measured tone. "So, it was a Bollywood song?"

Keitaro nodded.

"I should have guessed. It was sort of cheesy, you know?" she said. "I mean, imagine if something like this got onto Youtube or something. You probably have a reputation as a bad ass biker, but if this came out? All that respect would just go out the window."

Keitaro nodded painfully.

"Yeah," he said, "I guess that's true. I—"

He fell silent, then, and it was obvious why. Kitsune had just held up her phone after pressing the play button on a particular video file—and Keitaro watched the first thirty seconds of his performance as they were played back to him.

Kitsune then turned the video off and put her phone back into her pocket. She watched Keitaro for a reaction carefully, but he seemed lost for words.

"Well," Keitaro said after a moment, clearing his throat to buy himself a few seconds to think of how to react, "that's, err, a very nice video, Kitsune, but… but it doesn't prove anything," he said. He adjusted his turban and nodded confidently. "I mean," he scoffed, "this could be anywhere, and that could be anyone and I—"

"I got a few shots of your face," Kitsune said with a deadpan expression on her features. "There's no way to mistake you, Urashima Keitaro. No way at all."

That made Keitaro wince and almost squirm in his saddle. He tried to think of something to do or say to convince Kitsune to not embarrass him in front of the whole world, but he couldn't think of anything—after all, he'd done something almost as bad to her, not a week ago—

But then, Kitsune smiled at Keitaro. As he watched, she deleted the video and went so far as emptying her recycle bin so that there was no way of retrieving it, ever.

"Putting on this show for me was your way of apologizing for standing me up," Kitsune said. "Deleting the video of it is my way of apologizing for yelling at you yesterday."

Keitaro looked up at her, unsure if he dared to believe what she just said.

"So, does this mean…"

His voice trailed off, but Kitsune simply nodded to him and then began to trot away from him slowly, looking back at him over her shoulder.

"Yeah," Kitsune said, "it does. Now catch up with me, and keep singing."

Keitaro watched, for a moment, as Kitsune drew away. He seemed as if he had frozen, for a moment, before his face split into a wide grin. He rode hard to catch up to her for a moment, but then, he was riding along at her side, deeper into the forest. They were leaving the lake, now, and the well-defined trails that led up to it altogether, but Kitsune, certainly, felt perfectly safe. After all, no foe, human, animal, or otherwise, would dare to harm her, not when she was riding alongside her real-life Badshah Khan, a man much more talented, smart, attractive, and forward thinking than the fictional Pathan tribesman could ever be.

For a few moments, Keitaro was silent. But as he and his Benazir made his way into the darker depths of the mountains, inspiration came to him and he began to sing again.

"Chaiyya chaiyya, chaiyya chaiyaa; chale chaiyya chaiyaa, chaiyya chaiyya…"

* * *

(I hope you enjoyed the different direction this chapter took. It was definitely fun for me to write, and I hope the comedy gave you a nice break from the rest of the more serious events of the story.

I look forward to your comments and will upload the next chapter upon completion. Again, thanks to Shane McGowan Lives for being my beta… see you next chapter.)


	9. Chapter 9

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Nine

* * *

Weeks ago, Keitaro had been surprised that a relatively prestigious cram school in Japan, a highly advanced nation in the age of iPhones and internet download speeds of dozens of megabytes per second, had an old-fashioned blackboard for use with chalk. Now, though, he reacted to the permanent fixture in the mechanics classroom with either indifference or a vague sense of nostalgia, as it could very reasonably be said that the blackboard with a relic of a long-past time.

Perhaps it could also be said that the man who used it to teach was also a relic, albeit a living one. After all, the Dutchman had been born in the 1930s, and he'd gotten his Ph.D approximately when Keitaro's parents had been born.

And yet, he moved like a man half his age, and he taught like a man half of that age again. He was highly motivated and extremely knowledgeable in all fields of physics (though, at cram school, he only taught mechanics), and he never hesitated to help out individual students who were having trouble with class.

Apart from that, there was a reason he used a blackboard, and it wasn't just for old time's sake. It was because he could draw dotted lines on blackboards with a speed and finesse that made Keitaro stare the first time he'd seen it.

Somehow, the mechanics professor angled the chalk against the board and pressed hard enough that when he moved his hand, the chalk skipped against the board, creating a dotted effect. That was how Keitaro had assumed he did it, until he'd seen the professor draw _light_ dotted lines and dashed lines just as easily as he drew straight lines.

Even now, after taking classes with the professor for the better part of a few months, that feat made Keitaro shake his head in awe—before realizing that he really ought to be more attention to what the lines the professor was drawing meant, not how incredible it was that he was able to draw them at all.

Keitaro concentrated, though, and so he was able to get the gist of what was going on within a few seconds. Within a few more moments, he felt that he had the hang of what was being taught; it probably wouldn't take a ridiculous amount of studying to commit it to memory.

Class ended suddenly, not a moment after the professor finished teaching, but Keitaro, like several other students, stayed seated to perfect his notes and to make sure that he hadn't written anything down incorrectly.

Mechanics wasn't something that came to him easily, as math did. Mechanics required too much creativity, and so while Keitaro had found out that he could perform alright on mechanics homework, when he was focused on a test, it was hard to take a mental step back and to exam a problem from all angles, in order to see how it ought to be solved.

It was the nature of the beast that made it so difficult, but there was no easy way around it. Keitaro would have to study his mechanics, hard…

But that wasn't a big deal for him. Nothing was a big deal for him these days, because even though he had a daunting amount of studying and homework to get through daily, plus chores and biking, he had a stable life at home—and that was the safe, solid foundation that allowed him to get his work done. Sure, sometimes Su surprised him with a military invasion, but Keitaro found them to be playful and goodhearted for the most part.

There was no drama in his life, and nothing weighed down on his mind—that was why it was free to perform in the classroom as well as it did.

Finally finished ensuring that his notes were accurate, Keitaro sat up from the two-person bench-desks he and his classmates used, and began to leave the lecture hall. He found himself checking his phone for texts and emails and things like that as he left, but it looked like his friends had been quiet that day. All there was was the usual "What's going on?" email he was accustomed to receiving from his parents from time to time.

For a moment, Keitaro was tempted to fire off a quick response to them then and there. Instead, he decided to wait until he was on the bus to head home to send them something more thought out than a simple "fine".

As he and the other stragglers began to file out of the cram school, Keitaro looked around for a moment, until he saw Professor Nawaz leaving his own classroom. These were the times when they often stopped to chat for a few minutes (in Urdu, of course) before heading their separate ways, but that night, the Professor simply waved at him and headed off, signaling that he had somewhere to be.

And that was alright. All that meant for Keitaro was that he'd finally catch the first bus back to Hinata Springs.

* * *

"_What am I going to do about this guy?"_

From the day Urashima Keitaro had come to Hinata Inn, Naru had made it her personal mission to see him leave, one way or the other. She'd hated him—but privately, in order to trick him into thinking that they were on any sort of cordial terms, and she'd done her damnedest to find out what made him tick. She'd watched him and thought about him for hours every day to try to figure out what was the chink in his armor that would allow her to expose him for what he was… but no matter how hard she looked, no matter what she did, it was as if Keitaro wasn't a lowlife after all—it was as if he really was a decent, hardworking, moral guy.

And that wasn't true. That _couldn't_ be true.

But Naru had to admit to herself that when it came right down to it, she'd done almost nothing about Keitaro. She hadn't embarrassed him or lowered his standing in the girls' eyes, and she hadn't harmed his chances of getting into Tokyo U or doing well at the Yokohama Invitational that he always blabbered about, except for on one occasion, and that barely counted.

Keitaro was still an outsider to Hinata Inn, and Japan itself, for that matter, but soon, that wouldn't be true any longer. Already, Keitaro was becoming just another part of day-to-day life, and soon, he would be a permanent fixture of Hinata Inn whether Naru liked it or not.

She'd have to stop that long before it happened. And, as what she'd been doing thus far hadn't been effective at all, she'd have to change how she operated—drastically.

"_Speak of the Devil,"_ Naru thought, as she spotted Keitaro making his way toward the bus stop where she was waiting

She'd been listening to some music and angrily tapping her foot against the ground as she thought of new ways in which to torment Keitaro, and as such, her body language was intimidating, to say the very least. It took conscious effort for her to calm down and smile as she took her earbuds out and faced the mixed-race man approaching her.

"It's rare to see you coming home on this bus," Naru said politely. "What's up?"

"Professor Nawaz wasn't in the mood to chat tonight," Keitaro replied. He used a hand to stroke his hair after a shock of it drifted in front of his eyes—come to think of it, he'd have to get a haircut sooner rather than later.

"Ah, that's too bad. By the way, you should invite him over for tea again sometime," Naru said. "I'm trying to go to Tokyo U too, so it can't hurt to be on one of the professor's good sides, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Keitaro said absently. "That seems like it could be interesting."

All too late, Naru realized what he'd maneuvered her into doing. She'd started to talk to him with the intention of humiliating him somehow, but instead, she'd asked him for a favor—and, at least in the smallest way, she was relying on him to improve her chances of getting into Tokyo U!

Naru bit her tongue to avoid screaming; fortunately, she was able to distract herself with the arrival of the bus home. She and the usual crowd boarded it, plus Keitaro, and within a few minutes they were on their way to Hinata Springs.

Seating was limited that day, so Keitaro elected to stand, using a pole for support, while Naru sat down in a seat not far from the door. She looked anywhere but him, which was difficult, considering that he was more or less directly in front of her.

Keitaro ought to be uncomfortable for two reasons, but he wasn't. Although he was too tall for standard Japanese fixtures by a few inches, and although the bus was crowded enough that an American, for example, would feel claustrophobic, the nation which Keitaro identified with the most was built for shorter people who were still more used to being crowded than Japanese. So, he stood without fidgeting or complaining.

The idea that he could live in the same world as her without feeling any discomfort at all… ugh, it made Naru want to shudder. But she couldn't—not while he was clearly beating her at her own game. She had to find out how to beat him, and to do that, she had to understand his relationship with Kitsune.

And that meant that she had to know just what sort of monkey-song he had sung to her on Sunday.

"So…" Naru said rather awkwardly in order to get Keitaro's attention, "you're… a pretty good singer, Kei-kun. Where did you learn to do that?"

"My mom's a really good vocalist," he said. "She used to teach when she was younger, and these days, she participates in a few choirs and stuff like that from time to time. When I was growing up, she sort of taught me the ropes… and, well, I guess I never forget," he grinned. "All of my friends love Bollywood. Personally, I think it's pretty cheesy, but the musical composition is great, so… there you are."

"So it was a Bollywood thing," Naru said. She intended to use this affirmation to segue into a query about the song itself, but instead, she found herself curious.

"Isn't that weird? You and your friends like Bollywood, but you're Pakistani."

"Yeah, I guess that is sort of weird," Keitaro accepted. "Then again, the songs are in Hindi, which we understand, and there's not really a decent movie scene in Pakistan, so for us, Bollywood isn't at all foreign. Besides, half of the actors are descended from Pakistan or Afghanistan… that's the kind of rationalization you hear," Keitaro said. "Overall, though, you're right. It's completely indefensible—sort of like a Japanese knowing Korean," Keitaro said. He looked at Naru and slowly winked, and she _almost_ smiled.

"That's interesting," she said in an aloof manner.

"Anyway," Naru continued, "what song was it? Was it… something special?"

Keitaro laughed awkwardly, then, and rubbed the back of his head with a hand.

"Uhm, well, it's one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite movies," Keitaro said. "I guess it's special to me, so… yes. Sort of."

By this time, the bus was starting to empty as they left the immediate vicinity of Yokohama and headed toward the mountains. Keitaro could have sat down if he'd wanted to, but instead, he stayed on his feet, constantly moving, constantly fidgeting, in just such a way that it made Naru want to scream.

"So… what song was it?" she asked a moment later.

Keitaro looked at Naru and grinned broadly—and then, he shook his head.

"I'm not going to tell you that, I'm afraid," he said. "I haven't told Kitsune—or Haitani or Shirai, and that's not going to change for the foreseeable future."

"What?" Naru said. "Why?"

"Because it's a lo—long song," Keitaro said, before coughing in an entirely unconvincing manner.

"Let's just say that this is something I want to play close to the chest for the time being. If that changes… then you'll be the first to know, okay?"

"Fine," Naru said curtly, "keep your secrets."

"Sorry, Narusegawa," Keitaro said, using Naru's surname for once, "but this time, I'll have to."

* * *

That night, Naru stayed up late. She reviewed the notebook she'd made to keep track of Keitaro—who he was, what he did, what he liked—but the fact was that there was almost nothing to review. Keitaro was almost one-dimensional—he liked biking, he wanted to go to Tokyo U, he studied, he cleaned, he ate a lot and even though he made mistakes, he was the perfect mask of a determined, decent guy.

There were possibilities, Naru thought, that she could exploit to throw him off his game. She could damage his bike, steal his studying materials, or create messes or trouble with Hinata Inn itself to force him to spend hours on chores.

The problem with these options was that they were extreme. Naru had no moral problems with any of them—after all, the ends justified the means when it came to a sociopath like Keitaro—but they were too risky. If she was caught, everything would backfire on her, bigtime.

So, for the moment, these extreme options were left on the backburner. If things got too bad, or if she couldn't think of anything else within a few weeks… then she'd have no choice but to start to get really serious about hurting Keitaro.

For now, though, there had to be _something_ she could do to mess with him. She just had to think of it…

And then, a cruel smile came to Naru's face as she remembered the perverse manner she'd met Keitaro in the first place.

_That_ was his weakness, she thought, though he kept it under wraps 99% of the time. That was why he was playing hard to win Kitsune, and that was why he'd come to the Inn in the first place.

Keitaro was a pervert. And if Naru exploited that properly, he'd be out in the streets in a week.

* * *

There was no class the next day, so immediately after waking up and eating, Keitaro hit the trails—hard. He did advanced interval training for several hours in order to build up both his stamina and his ability to ride hard, and so by noon, he was sweating hard and exhausted—but he knew that he'd done well.

So, he went back into Hinata Inn, being sure to lock his bike up in a small shed at the rear of the house. Once he was in his room, he spent a few minutes doing pushups and stretching to cool down, and then he went to shower.

The Yokohama Invitational was closing in. At this point, it was several weeks away, and so while it wasn't imminent, it was no longer some event far off in the future. Keitaro had started to cut down on his eating a little bit to lose weight, as every excess pound would become a liability during a race like the YI, and he was training harder than he ever had before in his life.

And, of course, he had to do all this while studying. Unfortunately for him, the YI and Tokyo U's entry exam were set for the same week, so he couldn't cut corners on preparing for either one, period.

Oh well, Keitaro thought to himself as he began to dry off. If he could face challenges like this and come out on his feet, he was confident that he could confront anything else in his life without fear or concern.

After he'd dressed, Keitaro automatically made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He'd have a heavy meal now in order to make up for lost calories, and while eating it, Kitsune would probably join him to chat and eat her own, considerably smaller lunch.

Actually, she wouldn't today, Keitaro realized. She'd had to head to Yokohama in the morning for work, and she probably wouldn't be back until later in the evening.

So, there was a possibility that Naru might eat with him, but that was slim. Naru was generally a two meal a day girl, and besides, she didn't like to spend time with Keitaro if she could avoid it.

* * *

Lunch was eaten and the dishes were washed, and there were no really pressing chores Keitaro had to do that day, so he made his way back upstairs. It was time to study now, and he had planned to spend the afternoon drilling history facts with Naru in her room. She'd be waiting on him, so Keitaro hurried to get his books and notes together before making his way up another flight of stairs to get to Naru's room.

He paused before entering—the door was shut, and that was a bit strange. Generally, when Naru planned to have him over to study, she left the door open, but this time…

Well, it wasn't a big deal. Keitaro shrugged, knocked on the door, and then slid it open when Naru bade him to enter.

"Hey, Naru; what's up; how's your day going—"

Keitaro's slew of generic greetings was cut short. He'd entered the room half hunched over—his books had started to fall and he'd had to stumble in order to stop them from hitting the floor—and that was the one reason he didn't see more than an inch-wide band of Naru's midriff.

As Keitaro straightened up, he took note of the position of Naru's arms and her posture. It was hard to say, of course, but it almost looked like…she'd been putting on her shirt. Just as he'd been walking in—after she'd told him to come in.

Apart from that, she was dressed rather unlike she tended to for their joint study sessions. Generally, Naru wore sweatpants or loose pairs of jeans with a hoody to study, but this time, she was dressed… rather like how Kitsune did, or rather, how Kitsune used to.

Naru's short shorts were probably designed for someone of significantly smaller dimensions than hers. Her tank top was similarly tight; in fact, the white fabric was stretched over her torso so much that it bared even more skin than it was intended to. Keitaro could clearly see the outline of Naru's figure even as she stood, and if he were to look closer, he was liable to see… well, a lot more than that indeed.

Keitaro felt himself flush and looked away.

"Err… hello, Narusegawa," he said, in a carefully-measured tone. "How, uhm, are you doing today?"

"Oh, fine, just fine, Kei-kun," Naru said, and Keitaro swore he detected a slight wobble in her voice, as if she was embarrassed or nervous. "Uhm, how was your biking?"

"Great," Keitaro said. He slowly looked back at Naru—no, at Naru's eyes, dammit, not anywhere lower than her neckline. "I pushed myself pretty hard, but I feel fine now, so I think I'm really ready for the YI. I think I have a shot at placing well in it." He gave Naru a smile, and then nodded rather forcefully before holding up his books suggestively.

"So… shall we?" he asked.

For a split-second, Naru was perfectly still, her expression unreadable. It was as if she was surprised—shocked, even—by something, so much so that she had no idea how to react. It was as if she'd planned out a course of events with the assumption that they'd take place, but then something else entirely had happened.

Or maybe Keitaro was just imagining things. The next second, Naru nodded and sat down at the squat table in her room where, already, several of her own books and notebooks awaited.

It took Keitaro a few moments to get into the studying mindset, but that was nothing irregular. What was irregular was that it took _Naru_ a few minutes to get into the studying mindset. Generally, she was a no-nonsense girl, when it came to hitting the books. That was, in fact, something that Keitaro rather admired about her. When she sat down to study, she studied, and that was all. There was no distracting her or shifting her attention, and Keitaro often had the expression that if an earthquake were to take place when Naru was studying, she wouldn't notice it.

Today, though, it was as if Naru's mind was completely somewhere else. Keitaro noticed this and he didn't say anything, but it was highly, highly irregular, and somewhat disturbing, too. Was something wrong?

Or could it be that Naru was upset for some reason?

Fortunately, though, both Keitaro and Naru soon fell into the swing of studying and forgot about the strange fashion in which the session had started out. When it ended, Keitaro left after thanking Naru for her time and effort, and Naru waved him off with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, asking him to close the door behind him.

He did. And once it was shut, Naru's friendly expression fell and it was all she could do to stop herself from chucking whatever her hands found first after him.

"All right, Mr. Urashima," she said through gritted teeth, "you want to play tough, do you? Well, I hope your self-control is as strong as you want me to think it is."

Naru glared at the shut door for another few moments. Then, she stood up and changed back into her normal studying clothes, and immediately sat back down to study some more.

Her plans that day had failed. That was, however, no reason at all to shirk her responsibilities.

* * *

"Welcome home, Kitsune. How was work?"

"Eh, can't complain," Kitsune replied, letting her briefcase fall to the floor. "I had to meet with my boss to talk about my assignments for the next few weeks, and that was sort of intimidating, but then he took me and a couple coworkers out for lunch." She stood up and took off her jacket to hang it up next to the door.

"And—oh yeah," Kitsune said. "I found out about a swimming competition in Yokohama. It's pretty big, and it's around when you have the YI. I was thinking of maybe signing up for it."

"Oh, you definitely should, Kitsune," Keitaro said. "There probably aren't that many swimming competitions for people out of highschool."

Kitsune nodded and took a seat beside Keitaro on the couch. She glanced at what he was doing briefly—keeping track of money flows in and out of Hinata Inn—and then scooted just a bit closer to him. She wasn't close enough that they were touching, but she was close enough that they weren't quite sitting apart, either.

There she stayed, though. Though Keitaro didn't apparently look up from his work, she could see him glance at her out of the corner of his eye, and that was precisely what she was shooting for. She had his interest, and although he was… cautious, probably, he wasn't so spooked by her subtle advance that he was put off or embarrassed. She was just close enough to be on his mind, but she wasn't there to distract or disturb him.

Getting close to Keitaro was like a real-time strategy game with a hedgehog defender. If Kitsune moved too quickly or overtly, it would be to her peril. She had to move slowly, carefully maneuvering Keitaro into a certain mindset so that when the time came, yes, more overt advances could be made. Until then, though, Kitsune would be as gradual and conservative as she dared to.

It was then that footsteps were heard from the stairway. Kitsune looked up to see who was coming down, and smiled when she saw Naru approaching—dressed in a rather revealing manner, for her. Kitsune gave the darker-haired girl a questioning glance, but Naru seemed to look right past it as she said hello to Kitsune. She said hello to Keitaro too, but Keitaro barely looked up from what he was doing.

Kitsune didn't want to see something where there was nothing, but she hadn't become an expert in reading hidden cues and body language by ignoring things.

Something had happened between Naru and Keitaro.

What, though?

Kitsune couldn't ask, of course. If she said a word about it, both Naru and Keitaro would clam up tight and claim that nothing was wrong, haha, haha, and that Kitsune was just being silly. They'd grin stupidly at each other, and that would be the last Kitsune would hear about it.

For the moment, it seemed that the best way to figure out what was going on was to sit back and stay silent.

"Oh," Naru mentioned, reaching up to toy with her hair—she had done her hair, Kitsune noticed—"I taped a couple episodes of that serial killer TV show. I bet you're a fan, right, Kei-kun?"

Keitaro looked utterly confused by what Naru said. Now, she had succeeded in distracting him, because he looked up from what he was doing and stared at her blearily.

"There's a TV show about serial killers now?" Keitaro asked. "Sounds grisly… I've never heard of it before."

"Really? I'm surprised," Naru said.

Keitaro simply looked more confused, and for Kitsune's part, she wasn't doing much better. She had heard of a drama series about a serial killer before—Baxter, or Drexel, or something—but only in passing. Apart from that, Keitaro simply didn't have time to watch much TV, and if he did, he probably wouldn't watch such a violent thing. Why would Naru assume that he would…?

"Anyway, it looks like the two of you aren't up to anything important, so… why don't we give it a watch?" Naru suggested.

Keitaro looked at her, back at his paperwork, and then back at Naru rather slowly. It was pretty clear that he was doing important stuff, wasn't it? Then again, what he was doing wasn't exactly time-critical, so… and, well, it certainly wouldn't hurt to give one of Naru's hobbies a try in order to try to get a better relationship with her, so…

"Yeah, sure, Narusegawa," Keitaro said. He put his papers on the coffee table before the sofa he and Kitsune were sharing, and gave Naru a smile.

He reached for the remote so that he could access the DVR, but noticed that it wasn't in its usual place on the side of the table. Kitsune noticed this, and stood up, looking around to see if it had fallen anywhere, but Naru just sighed and knelt down in front of the TV.

"We'll find the remote later; for now, I'll just do this manually," she said.

The DVR was under the TV, safely recessed in the expensive wooden stand, along with a VHS, DVD, and Blu-Ray player. Naru turned the TV on and then reached forward to operate the DVR itself, and in doing so, she gave Keitaro and Kitsune a rather, shall we say, rare view.

Naru's short shorts _just_ fit her when she was standing, so bending over the slightest bit caused them to hike up her thighs. When she was bent over almost ninety degrees like that, _too_ much was visible. Naru was a curvy girl, with smooth, fair skin, and so even though Keitaro did his best to keep his eyes averted, he was a guy, at the end of the day, so his eyes did run over her several times.

"Dammit," Naru swore softly. She had been wrestling with the DVR for a few moments, but she wasn't able to get it to go beyond the main menu for some reason. And although Keitaro was either looking pointedly away from her, or at her rather blatantly-placed behind, he couldn't help but notice that she didn't really seem to be depressing any of the machine's keys.

The seconds ticked by. To distract himself, Keitaro took his papers up again, and Kitsune rested her arms behind her head. She watched Naru struggle with the DVR for another few seconds, before getting up.

"Hey, let me help you, Naru—"

"No! It's okay, I got it," Naru protested. She turned to face Kitsune over her shoulder—and Kitsune noticed that she was blushing. Naru squirmed a bit and looked away from her friend, smiling half-heartedly, and turned back to the DVR.

Before she did, though, she glanced at Keitaro. And Kitsune did not miss that.

So, Naru was trying to seduce Keitaro? Was that what was going on here?

It was completely out of Naru's character. In all the time Kitsune had known her, she'd been interested in all of one guy, and that had been a silly little schoolgirl crush. Naru had never liked really liked any guy, and that was why she was being so overt with her advances.

And that's why they weren't going to work.

It was said that guys needed things spelled out for them, but Kitsune knew that wasn't quite true. To keep a guy interested for more than a few moments of intercourse, a woman had to be mysterious, enticing, special—she couldn't go doing what Naru was doing. Even before Kitsune had realized that Keitaro wasn't a person who was led around by his sexuality, she hadn't been _this_ overt with her advances—certainly not in this pathetic, juvenile manner.

Kitsune almost felt bad for Naru. Next to her, Naru didn't stand a chance, especially when she made advances to Keitaro in such a manner. Kitsune wouldn't even have to tell her to stay away from Keitaro, because if she continued along this path, she'd keep Keitaro away on her own.

But it was still so pathetic, to watch Naru kneel there, humiliating herself in a display that Keitaro wasn't even looking at. Kitsune told herself that as soon as Naru had thoroughly pushed Keitaro away, and gotten over him, she'd teach her how to properly attract whatever man she set her sights on, but for now, Naru was on her own.

A few minutes passed before Naru finally got the DVR working, not that there had ever been a problem with it in the first place. She got the show running—it was called Dexter, Kitsune realized—and honestly, it wasn't that bad.

Kitsune was distracted from the show, though, by the fact that Naru had rather pointedly sat down next to Keitaro, and that Keitaro had gotten rather into the show. This gave Naru an opportunity to get closer to him, and closer, and closer still, so that by the time, they were halfway through the episode, she was practically at his shoulder.

This was not acceptable. Kitsune would have to make an advance soon to keep herself at the top of Keitaro's mind, or, if she wasn't careful, the less experienced, somewhat less attractive, but younger, smarter, and more innocent Narusegawa would steal him from right under her nose.

* * *

It was rare for Naru to work out. She kept slim by eating very little and walking a lot, though genetics undoubtedly played a role in keeping her at a healthy body weight. Apart from that, however, she wasn't exactly fit. She could run, sure, but only for a few hundred meters; and she could do pushups and jumping jacks, but only for a few reps apiece. And she could swim, sure, but only for a couple laps at a very moderate pace, or else she'd tire herself out and have to walk to the edge of the pool.

Naru wasn't at the swimming pool to swim, though. Sure, she got into the water and paddled around, but she wasn't there to swim or to work out in any other fashion.

She was there because Keitaro was there, and that was all.

Although Naru knew that Kitsune was attractive in her own right—well, actually, from an objective standpoint it might be fair to say that Kitsune was more attractive—the fact was that Naru was younger, slimmer, with long, feminine hair that rather contrasted with Kitsune's more practical cut.

True, Kitsune seemed to be slowly growing her hair out. But for the moment, Naru clearly had the advantage; her hair was mid-back length at least and naturally straight.

Kitsune did not appreciate this. She also didn't appreciate that when she and Naru were changing in the women's locker room, it became clear that Naru's baggy clothes hid her beauty all too well.

Naru was slim, true—but she was curvy.

Maybe dousing oneself with cold water really did increase one's bust size. After all, something had certainly increased Naru's.

Kitsune had elected to wear a rather modest swimsuit; in fact, it was one that was barely sold in Japan anymore. Hers was a dark-colored one-piece that covered her thighs and shoulders.

Naru's, on the other hand, was perhaps one of the most revealing bikinis Kitsune had ever seen.

It was white in color, and made of so little material that it didn't bother with a pattern. Apart from that, it seemed a size too small, because when Naru bent over to put her clothes into a locker, the top just _barely_ seemed to stay in place. And when Naru made her way out of the locker room before Kitsune, it became clear that her swimsuit bottom was equally as revealing: it was little more than a G-string.

She was clearly going to try to shock and awe Keitaro, but Kitsune knew that she would only be half-successful in her plans.

She wouldn't awe Keitaro, not for very long, anyway, but she'd shock him for damn sure.

Kitsune could see it in his face when she and Naru went to say hello to him, before they all jumped into the pool. Keitaro's expression was neutral, then moderately happy as he saw the two girls, and then somewhat lustful as his eyes dipped below Naru's neckline, and then taken aback, and then rather embarrassed.

And then he rather pointedly looked away from Naru, even as she practically stood on her toes and wriggled herself in an attempt to get his attention.

They began to swim, then, and over the next hour or so that they were at the pool, Naru tried to talk to Keitaro numerous times. He was never short with her, exactly, but he didn't quite treat her with the courtesy that he tended to, either. And when Kitsune spoke to him, he was good-natured and friendly, just as he always had been to her, ever since she'd found out how to appeal to him.

Naru hadn't yet realized that the way to Keitaro's heart was not through his masculine desire. And now that she'd made the severe misstep of putting herself out before him in such a manner, she'd never get the chance to correct herself—no matter what she did, she'd always be a somewhat uncouth girl in Keitaro's eyes.

When they were finished swimming, Naru and Kitsune made their way back into the locker room. Kitsune spoke to Naru just a little, and in a way, she did feel bad for Naru. Keitaro was a good guy and he'd be tough to get over, particularly given that Naru would never get another chance with him.

Regardless, as she pulled her clothes back on and watched Naru do the same, Kitsune couldn't help but smirk to herself.

"_Check, Naru," _she thought to herself. _"Soon, the King will be mine."_

* * *

Several days passed uneventfully. Kitsune continued to hit the pool, and Keitaro continued to hit the trails. Naru continued to try to speak to him or get close to him, and although her advances were no longer as painfully blatant as they had been, he never seemed to have eyes or time for her. He even stopped studying with her, and soon, he encountered her so infrequently that he became a stranger to her.

Kitsune observed all of this, albeit from a safe distance. She couldn't let either of them on to the fact that she was well aware of Naru's advances and was doing nothing to stop her from making a fool (or worse) of herself. If Naru found out why Kitsune had started to dress better, stop drinking, and start working harder, and if she then realized that this was also why Kitsune hadn't stopped her from ruining any chance of a relationship with Keitaro, it would spoil their friendship. And if Keitaro found out that Kitsune had done nothing to stop her best friend from acting against her own best interests, well… he wouldn't hate her, certainly, but he'd find it a lot harder to trust her, and that was something Kitsune couldn't afford.

As the days passed, though, there was no doubt that Naru and Keitaro were getting further and further away, whereas Kitsune and Keitaro were getting closer and closer. At this point, she was pretty sure that they weren't "just friends". They weren't physical in any sense, of course, and they didn't exactly flirt with one another, but Keitaro wasted what little time he had to waste standing in Kitsune's doorway to chat and Kitsune often found herself cooking for him, or talking about biking, or just shooting the breeze about the future and the opportunities it might bring.

* * *

It was early one Saturday afternoon when Keitaro made his into Hinata Springs to wait for the bus that would take him to Yokohama. It was a good day—he'd gotten up early, done some studying, and biked hard for a few hours, and now, after eating a light lunch, he was heading out with his friends.

They'd booked a group deal at a paintballing arena online, and once they got there, all the gear, the guns, and the ammunition would be provided. Keitaro had never played paintball before, but Haitani and Shirai had, many times, so if he followed their lead, he'd probably be okay… well, maybe.

Regardless, it was going to be fun, Keitaro thought, grinning in anticipation. It was a lovely day outside—sunny, cool, with a pleasant cross-breeze that caused him to brush his hair out of his face with a hand. Sure, he'd get shot up a little bit and he'd probably be bruised and exhausted by the end of the day, but the rush and the challenge would be worth it. In fact, the rush and the challenge were why he enjoyed mountain-biking so much, despite the fact that it was rather dangerous and that he'd broken several bones through his career already. Fun just wasn't fun without some risk of injury.

Keitaro was so distracted by where he was going and why he was going there that he never heard or saw the motorbike coming. He didn't see the driver swerve, as if intentionally, off the road and onto the sidewalk where he waited, and when the biker's shoulder struck him in the side of the face, he didn't feel anything.

He just went down, knocked unconscious immediately.

The biker just drove on, glancing behind himself once, shocked by what he'd done—and then he just sped up and rounded a turn that would take him to a highway leading away from Hinata Springs and toward anonymity and safety on the highway.

Keitaro, though, was just left there on the sidewalk, all by himself.

All by himself…

* * *

(Sorry for the cliffhanger, and sorrier for the long wait between chapters. I have every hope of writing more in the future, now that I've settled into the routine of this semester, so look forward to the next chapter soon. Remember to leave me with your reaction and comments, to share this fic with those who may be interested in it, and as always—have nice day.)


	10. Chapter 10

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Ten

* * *

"You know, as bad as I feel about what happened to Keitaro, I honestly think—Shirai, don't you think we ought to do something to mess with him, just a little?"

"What? What are you talking about, Haitani? Our best friend's in the hospital with maybe a concussion, and all you can think about is pranking him?"

"Well, nothing serious," Haitani said, though he looked a little uncomfortable. "I'm just saying, maybe it would be funny to… to shave his head, or maybe draw on his face with a Sharpie or something."

For a moment, Shirai just stared at Haitani. Theoretically, he was looking at a young adult—a legal adult, in the eyes of the law—and yet he felt like he was looking at a child, a young child without the emotional or intellectual maturity to differentiate right from wrong—

"As funny as that would be," a voice said, "it's not usually a good idea to talk about prank ideas in front of the people you want to use them on."

Keitaro sat up from the hospital bed, grinning tiredly.

"I'm just saying."

It was still early in the afternoon, judging by the amount of light entering the window. Keitaro was in a small, extremely clean room. Judging by that, and the medical equipment and charts all around him, he was in a hospital—and he could guess why.

He'd been standing at the edge of Hinata Springs, at the bus stop… and he didn't remember hearing or seeing anything in particular, but he did remember taking a blow to the head, or face, and that was it.

And now he was in a hospital room.

"Ugh," Keitaro groaned, lying back down in his bed. He moved to rub the side of his face, which felt oddly numb, but then he thought better of it and just looked at Haitani and Shirai in turn.

"What happened?" he asked.

"A motorcyclist took you out, buddy," Shirai answered. He looked at Keitaro sympathetically, and elaborated. "He just… came up on the sidewalk for some reason, and pow."

Shirai mimed a fist striking a face, and sighed, shaking his head.

"You've been out for maybe… fifteen, twenty minutes now," Haitani said.

He'd been unconscious for fifteen or twenty minutes… that meant that in fifteen or twenty minutes, Haitani and Shirai had gotten from the paintball arena in Yokohama to… wherever he was now. Considering the traffic and how long it would take to walk or even run from one public transit hub to another, Haitani and Shirai must have pulled some sort of acrobatics to get to where they were so quickly.

That spoke volumes about their respective characters, and for a moment, Keitaro simply looked at each of his friends. Then, he fidgeted a bit in his bed and winced.

"How bad did he get me?" Keitaro asked.

"The doctors said he almost broke your jaw," Haitani said. "As it is, you'll have a nasty bruise for a while, but… it's not actually that bad. No concussion, no complications… they just want you to rest here for a couple hours, and if they can give you a clean bill of health, you should be able to head home for the night."

Keitaro nodded.

For a moment, he simply lay back into the bed and tried to collect his thoughts. It was difficult, since although he had been a mountain biker for years and although he had broken bones and gotten more than his share of cuts and bruises, he'd never been knocked out cold like this. What on Earth was he going to tell his parents?

And what about the Yokohama Invitational? Sure, the doctors had said that he'd just have a bruise for some time, but what if they were wrong? What if this was actually a serious injury, and Keitaro was hurt too badly to compete?

For a moment, Keitaro looked around the room for something to help him decide what to do—or, failing that, something to distract him from the cacophony of thoughts angrily ramming into the sides of his head. Haitani and Shirai looked on helplessly until Keitaro looked up at the two of them and asked where his phone was.

Haitani made his way to the corner of the room where there was a small bin of Keitaro's personal effects. A moment later, Keitaro had his phone in hand and was using it to call his parents.

Haitani and Shirai looked at one another awkwardly. Keitaro deserved his privacy, of course, but they didn't want to leave him alone in the room. In the end, they compromised by moving away from Keitaro and towards the door, where they stood awkwardly as Keitaro began to speak to his father.

The conversation that followed was painful to listen to. Although Keitaro used Urdu to converse with one, then both of his parents, Haitani and Shirai could both hear the shock and worry in their voices as they asked their son if he was alright—if he wanted them to come to him, or if he just wanted to come home. Keitaro said no on both counts, of course, but it took a good deal of convincing after that before his parents finally accepted that he really was alright.

Finally, the call ended. Keitaro set his phone down, and winced.

Haitani and Shirai approached him, but he didn't look up at them. He felt… ashamed, almost, for putting his parents through so much worry. After all, he was their only son—their only _child_, and if something bad happened to him, then there was no doubt that they'd be more scared for him than he was for himself. It was true that he hadn't exactly done anything dangerous or risky, but still—

Keitaro looked at Shirai.

"Did anyone see what happened?" Keitaro asked. "Did they get the guy who did this?"

Shirai shook his head.

"Unfortunately not," he said. "The cops are probably over there right now questioning people, but when we got here, the doctors said that no one got a good look at the biker. He was just… a biker, on a Yamaha bike, in a black suit with a full-face helmet."

Keitaro grimaced.

"What about cameras? There are cameras all over the place—I bet one got a shot of his license plate or something, right?"

"Don't get too worked up over it," Haitani said. "Just let the cops do their jobs, alright? There's not too much any of us can do to help out in a situation like this."

Keitaro had to admit that Haitani was right. Sure, he'd seen a few episodes of CSI in his life and precisely one episode of Dexter, but that didn't make him an expert in criminal investigations at all. Maybe it really was best to just sit back and let the real experts handle things.

"By the way," Shirai said, "have you told your, err, housemates? The hospital called Haitani and me because we're listed as your official emergency contacts, but I don't know if any of your girlfriends are."

"They're not my girlfriends," Keitaro said automatically. He looked crossly at Shirai, but Shirai just grinned and held up his hands defensively.

"Hey, I'm just saying," Shirai said. "A young, healthy guy like you, living in a harem of pretty young ladies? If nothing's happened by this point—if you haven't even tried anything at this point… I'm just saying, man. There's nothing wrong with being gay, but I wish you'd have told us. I could use a good wingman. This sucker's useless when it comes to ladies," he said, gesturing at Shirai.

"I'm not gay," Keitaro said, flushing. "And… nothing's happened between us, and I definitely haven't tried anything—nothing at all!" Keitaro said, but he couldn't quite stop himself from thinking about how he and Naru (and Kitsune) had met for the first time.

"Anyway, Haruka-san should have been notified too," Keitaro said, as Shirai muttered something about "getting defensive". He checked his phone to see if he'd received any calls or texts recently, but there were none, so he put it down on the side of the bed and sat up. "I wonder where she is—"

It was then that Haruka appeared, barging in through the door that led to Keitaro's room from the hallway. A gaggle of nurses and doctors followed her, shouting something about signing in and getting a visitor's pass. She'd apparently ignored them utterly—in fact, judging by her clothing, the moment she'd gotten the call about Keitaro, she'd closed her tea shop, hopped into (or hijacked) a taxi, and come to the hospital at top speed. And now, she was barreling toward Keitaro with a killer glint in her eye—

And then she hugged him so forcefully he thought that his lungs would collapse, telling him not to make her worry so much, to be more careful, and that she was so glad that he was alright.

Keitaro feebly patted Haruka on the back with one hand, even as he used his free hand to try to peel her away from him—he needed to breathe after all, and in her tight grasp doing so was a challenge.

Eventually, though, she let him go. For a moment, she faced him, smiling, relieved to see him alive—and then, the warmth on her face vanished as she grabbed her cousin by the lapels, lifted him into the air, and began to berate him.

"So, you flew thousands of miles just to get into this kind of trouble?" she growled. "And here I was thinking that you had some brains—you fool! Do you realize what kind of danger you put yourself in by—by doing what you did?"

"Gak—but Haruka-san, I was just standing on the sidewalk!" Keitaro protested. He tried to dislodge her ironclad grip from his shirt, but it was useless. Even shoving at her elbows in an attempt to get her arms to bend had no effect.

Fortunately, though, Haruka released him a moment later. Keitaro fell back, half-shying away from her, because although she seemed to accept his answer, it was clear that she wasn't exactly happy with it.

"All right," she moodily said a moment later. "But for God's sake, kid, look out for yourself. Have you called your parents yet?" she asked.

Keitaro nodded, still somewhat afraid of Haruka.

She fidgeted uncomfortably, her normal demeanor slipping, or cracking, just a bit. A moment later, Haruka simply gave Keitaro a thumb up, as if she had no idea what else to do.

"Well, in that case… I'll, err, just go and have a cigarette. Give me a call when you're finished with your little friends, and I'll take you home, alright?"

Keitaro nodded, and gave Haruka a thumb up of his own.

It was then that he noticed some sort of infection on his hand—some sort of black, splotchy infection that, doubtlessly, was the calling card of some sort of flesh-eating bacteria or something—

And then Keitaro looked at the design on his hand a bit more closely. It mimicked the bones under his flesh perfectly, and when he rubbed at his skin with his fingers, they came away dark, as if stained by ink—

And then Keitaro, Shirai, and Haruka looked at Haitani, who was, just then, innocently looking skyward and whistling.

Even as he felt their eyes on him, he didn't drop his pretense of innocence. Even as he held up the Sharpie marker he kept on his person (in case of an event similar to that which had befallen Keitaro), he kept whistling and looking skyward.

"Oh dear, why are you all looking at me?" Haitani asked eventually, in a rather pompous, obnoxious tone. He looked at everyone present, and grinned broadly, before looking at Keitaro in particular.

"I'd say sorry," Haitani said, "but then I'd have to add that I'm only sorry that I didn't have time to draw more before Shirai got back from the toilet. Come to think of it, you _always_ go to the toilet when things like this happen," Haitani said, glancing at Shirai.

Shirai looked uncomfortable.

"I have a nervous bladder," he admitted. "Like… like a puppy."

Haitani nodded at that, and then faced Keitaro again.

"Just be glad that Mr. Puppy came back when he did, I guess. Anyway, I'll see you guys later," Haitani said, swaggering out of the room. He paused, though, and turned to face Keitaro again.

"By the way, bro," he said, "your hand wasn't the only thing I drew on."

Haitani left the room before anyone could do anything to stop him. Haruka and Shirai gave chase immediately, while Keitaro was free to suddenly squirm around in bed, looking over himself for whatever else Haitani might have drawn on him.

At one point, he lifted up the sheets and looked at what they concealed from the rest of the world.

And then he screamed.

* * *

"So wait a second," Kitsune said, "your own best friend drew such a vulgar thing on you when you were unconscious in the hospital with an almost broken jaw?"

"Yes," Keitaro said thinly. "Fortunately, there was rubbing alcohol and gauze pads in the room, so it didn't take too much effort to get it off."

"Uhm, sempai," Shinobu said, "if-if it's not too much to ask… what did your friend draw on you?"

Keitaro flushed and turned away. Kitsune took this as an opportunity to speak for him—if she did that well, then he'd see her as someone who was trustworthy and mature enough to do such things on his behalf.

"It was very immature and inappropriate, Shinobu-chan," Kitsune said, "and let's leave it at that."

"What's 'immature'? Is it good to eat?"

Surprisingly, Kaolla's characteristic near-insanity and obliviousness to what was going on brought a smile to Keitaro's face. He got the impression that nothing could get her down; even if a bomb went off, she'd just laugh, call it a pretty explosion, and send the responsible parties a few presents of her own making. Her carefree attitude had put Keitaro in a better spirit after he'd returned to Hinata Inn from the hospital—she'd greeted him with a hello, a sharp military salute, and a banana.

And now, she, like the rest of Hinata Inn's residents, were in the living room with him. Even Haruka was there, casually breaking the dormitory's no smoking rule. Kitsune, Shinobu, Kaolla, Naru, even Motoko were there—

Hold on a minute, Keitaro thought to himself. He scanned the room quickly, just in case he'd missed something, but there was no mistaking it.

Naru was missing.

Casually, he turned to face Kitsune, who was sitting next to him on the couch facing the TV.

When he did so, he paused, for a moment, and that was because Kitsune looked so happy as she talked about something or the other to Haruka.

It wasn't that Keitaro was used to seeing Kitsune depressed or angry. She wasn't some sort of gothic girl or anything like that, but it was also true that the happiness that she showed to the world seemed rather superficial for reasons Keitaro had never quite been able to put his finger on.

Now, though, she was different. She smiled and laughed more naturally, and the way she conducted herself—the way she took care of her work and responsibilities more enthusiastically, and the fact that she did above and beyond the minimal amount of chores she was required to do to help keep Hinata Inn in good shape just made her seem like a more happy, content person to Keitaro.

And then, of course, he hadn't seen or heard of her taking a single drink ever since he'd made the bet with her. Apart from that, now that she was really starting to get serious about swimming, she was going from being a normal, barely fit girl to a toned, lean athlete, someone who Keitaro could relate to and be inspired by far more easily.

In addition to all this, she was growing her hair out. And, he had to admit, her abnormally fair hair looked rather nice, and velvety, and sleek, when it flowed down the contour of her back like that…

Keitaro realized that he was staring. He caught himself just before Kitsune turned to face him, and plastered a smile on his face, before gesturing around the room.

"Say, where's Naru?" Keitaro asked. "I, uhm, had a few questions about history I wanted to ask her about."

Well, that wasn't a _complete_ lie. Keitaro had a few questions about history, all right, but he had no desire to ask Naru about them, considering how she had started to act around him of late. These days, if he went to her room, he was more likely than not to walk in _just_ as she was putting her shirt on, or when she was bent over, looking for something at the bottom of her dresser.

"Oh, she went to go and see some friends or something. She left maybe… two hours before you did," Kitsune replied.

"Ah," Keitaro nodded. "I guess she must have taken the bus to the big train station in Yokohama to get wherever she was going. I mean, it's not like she drives, right?"

Keitaro paid just a bit more attention to Kitsune than he would have if his question was totally offhand, but this escaped her notice and she answered normally, naturally.

"Nah," Kitsune said. "She just never had the time to do it, I guess. It's not driving's something everyone does in the city—take me. I've barely been behind the wheel of a scooter in my life."

"I see, I see," Keitaro said. "Wow, that's different. In the US, you're pretty much considered less than a human being if you don't drive by the time you're eighteen, and in Pakistan, everyone has a bike, or a scooter, or something."

"I think people drive more in the suburbs," Kitsune said. "But I wouldn't know about that. I'm a city girl, through and through. If you want to know more about Japan outside of the city, you'll have to talk to Motoko."

It was a casual, as if natural way of directing the conversation towards someone else in the room. Certainly if Kitsune and Keitaro were alone, she'd milk a conversation with him as much as possible until talking became awkward, but now that they were in public, she didn't want things with him to get awkward, and the best way to prevent that was by involving other people. So, Kitsune effectively passed the torch on to Motoko, trusting that she'd keep Keitaro somewhat interested, but not quite enough that he'd forget about how much more fun it was to talk to her.

"Is it true?" Keitaro said to Motoko. "Is life in rural Japan that different from city life?"

"Very, Urashima-san," Motoko said. "But more to the point—have the police found out anything about your attacker?"

So, Motoko confronted the elephant in the room head-on. Kitsune had been planning to talk about that issue with Keitaro in private, in a much more subtle way, but now that the cards were on the table she, like the rest of the room's occupants, was paying close attention. Even Kaolla seemed to slow down somewhat to listen to what Keitaro had to say.

And when he spoke, he spoke in a rather dejected manner.

"Well, no," Keitaro admitted. "They gave me a call when I was on the way here. No one seems to have seen anything, and although they're working on getting security camera footage from the local shops, they're not hopeful."

He sighed. And then, he tilted his head to the side somewhat and looked back at Motoko.

"Besides, why are you referring to him as my "attacker"? It was just an honest mistake, that's all, and after it happened, he just… he panicked and drove away. That's all it was."

That was what Keitaro said. It was not, however, what Keitaro believed, and Motoko exposed this simply by looking Keitaro in the eye until he flinched and looked away.

"I've been meditating a lot recently, Urashima-san, and the moment you returned here, I read your ki. There's no doubt about it—you were attacked _intentionally_, and the aura of danger is still around you."

That made Keitaro almost jump, whereas Haruka really did jump, coughing on her cigarette and assuming a not so relaxed, slouched posture. Motoko just shook her head, though, even as she slowly, carefully looked around the room.

"It's not at the fever pitch it was as you left Hinata Inn," Motoko said, "but there's no doubt in my mind that what happened to you was not an isolated accident, nor is it the last attack you will sustain. Something very twisted is happening here, and it's not finished."

Keitaro became aware, then, that something was touching his right wrist, and when he looked to see what it was, he saw that Kitsune's fingers—much more frail and feminine than his—had wrapped around his forearm. For a moment, he thought about saying something about that, or perhaps just silently withdrawing his hand, but then he decided that… he really didn't mind what was going on, not at all.

He looked back to Motoko.

"So… what do you mean?" he asked pathetically. "Am I going to get attacked again? Where? When? How—and who's doing it, and why?"

Motoko shut her eyes and shook her head in a careful, precise serenity.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I will continue to meditate on it, but until what's happening becomes clear, I implore you, Urashima-san, be much, _much_ more careful. If you don't… I don't know how far your enemies will go."

"B-but, I have the YI in just a few weeks!" he said. "I can't stay cooped up in my room all day—I _have_ to hit the trails, and if they come for me when I'm out there—then what'll happen?"

"Hey—why don't you look out for him, Motoko?" Kitsune piped up. Keitaro looked to her, and Motoko did too, along with Kaolla, Shinobu, and Haruka.

"I mean… I'm not asking you to trail him 24/7, but if you could just practice or meditate on the roof when he's biking… then you should be able to give him some protection, right? In any case, it's a lot better than nothing, right?"

For a moment, Motoko looked skeptical, but then she began to nod. Her normally serene expression took on a somewhat determined overtone and she sat up just a little straighter, just a little taller.

"Yes… that could work," Motoko said. "I'm sworn to protect the weak and the innocent, and Urashima-san is—certainly a very innocent man."

She looked at Keitaro as she said that, and her comment spoke volumes about Keitaro's character. Though Motoko often made cheap little jibes at Keitaro's expense about his lack of combat aptitude and physical weakness when it came to tests of raw power rather than endurance, they were light-hearted in nature.

Apart from that, that she'd gone from being one of Keitaro's biggest detractors—simply due to the fact that he was a male in what was supposed to be an all-girls dormitory—to being someone who was willing to publically affirm his innocence… that said a lot about how clean Keitaro kept his actions, _and_ his thoughts. Apart from the very first day he'd come to Japan, after all, he hadn't slipped up once and Motoko had never detected even the shadow of malice in his ki.

Sure, he'd slipped. But he'd never done so in a manner unfortunate enough that he ended up in a sexual position.

In fact, ever since he'd come to Hinata Inn, the quality of life there had markedly risen. Things got fixed and cleaned faster, and although no one consciously realized it, Keitaro was an incredibly positive influence on all of the girls' lives. He was, after all, a world-class mountain biker, and at the same time he was studying to get into one of the very best universities in the whole world. Shinobu and Kaolla looked up to him like he was an elder brother, and, in time, even Motoko had learned to appreciate Keitaro's existence as a fellow warrior—albeit not a literal one.

So, these days, the girls more than tolerated his presence at Hinata Inn. They enjoyed it.

* * *

A few days passed, and in that time, Keitaro kept a low profile. He rarely left Hinata Inn except to bike or to go to cram school, and in the latter case, he was careful to maintain maximum situational awareness. Motoko looked over him when he biked—either by accompanying him into the forest, or, as she preferred, simply remaining on Hinata Inn's roof as a silent, distant, ever-watchful guardian.

Naru hated just how much attention Keitaro was paying to everything and everyone but her.

Her strategy to seduce him had failed utterly, she recognized, and not only had it failed it had actually backfired on her. Now, Keitaro was loath to spend even a few moments alone with her, even when she wanted him around for legitimate reasons, and even when they were together in public, he rarely looked her way or spoke directly to her.

Naru believed that he was onto her, and in a way, he was. But the simple fact was that her actions had embarrassed and vaguely disgusted Keitaro, and what Naru couldn't see was that she was ashamed of herself and how she'd acted.

Instead, she took the negative energy that resulted from her failures and turned it into more hatred for Keitaro.

But what could she do with it?

She asked this of herself as she and Keitaro returned back to Hinata Springs from cram school one evening. He'd stayed back, a few moments, to chat with that dumb professor who had become his mentor, but in the end he'd sprinted and just managed to catch the bus, and now, Naru was cursed with the misfortune of traveling with him.

It was hard for her to look at him without glaring.

She couldn't engage him directly, she knew. Any advances she made would be rebuffed, and if she was visibly unpleasant with Keitaro, the rest of Hinata Inn's residents would see it, and that wouldn't be good. They were all under his spell, the poor fools, and it would take some doing on Naru's part to make them realize how wrong they were to trust a man like Keitaro.

Once she was successful, though, it was doubtful that Keitaro would leave Japan with a shred of reputation left. In fact, it was more probable than not that he'd be criminally prosecuted for some reason or another.

Naru considered her options as the bus drive continued. She couldn't do as she'd done when Keitaro had been injured, because simply vanishing from Hinata Inn did nothing to further her goals, but she couldn't directly engage him, either. She couldn't seduce him, couldn't embarrass him…

… So, it seemed that she'd have to do what she'd wanted to avoid doing, if at all possible. She'd have to resort to extreme measures to bring out the demon that so subtly hid behind Keitaro's calm, good-natured exterior. She'd have to severely unsettle him if she wanted everyone to see who he really was.

For a moment, Naru looked at the brown-haired, bespectacled youth that was Keitaro.

To be frank, even she had to admit that he didn't exactly look dangerous. He was tall, sure, but he was lanky and lithe, and he didn't dress the way one might expect a true sociopath and sexual predator to. He didn't have a trenchcoat, combat boots, gloves, or anything like that—his preferred manner of dress consisted simply of cargo pants, generic tee shirts, and sneakers.

He looked perfectly innocent. In fact, he _was_ perfectly innocent, as far as his actions were concerned, but even though he had managed to fool Motoko, Naru knew what was really in his heart. Somehow, she knew it, and she had to expose it.

Naru's thoughts were cut short as the bus came to the Hinata Springs stop, and soon, she and Keitaro made their way onto the street. It was rather dark that night, and chilly, and there was a lot of traffic so the two of them waited on the sidewalk for the lights to change so that they could safely make their way across, into the sloped townscape that, eventually, led to Hinata Inn.

It was then that Naru became aware of a crowd approaching them. Some of them seemed to be holding signs and shouting things, and for a moment, she was tempted to simply write it off as a group of dissatisfied employees, or maybe students who, for whatever reasons, were under the assumption that they studied too hard.

She was about to scoff and look away from them when she realized what some of the signs they were carrying said.

"Gaijins out."

"Japan for Japanese."

This was a far-right political rally, it seemed—right here, on the outskirts of Hinata Springs. It wasn't a gathering of people who opposed immigration for economic reasons, or who simply wanted to express pride in their culture and their heritage—these guys were serious. They were almost all young, angry-looking men wearing leather and combat boots, and some of them even had tattoos on their arms—even on their faces—and these were the telltale signs of Yakuza membership.

They were serious, serious people. And they, along with the rocks and knives they were likely to be carrying, were coming right for Keitaro.

Immediately, Naru turned on him. She saw that he realized the potential danger he was in, because panic was on his expression. He couldn't run, though—he and Naru were essentially trapped on an island of pavement in the middle of several lanes of traffic, and the activists were still coming.

Naru reacted without thinking.

"You're really something, huh, Takahiro-kun?" she said, smiling up at Keitaro. She spoke loud enough that she could be heard, but not loud enough that she came off as someone who wanted to be heard.

"Dying your hair brown like that… what's the point? Aren't there better ways to express yourself?

When she'd started to speak, Keitaro had looked at her like she was an alien. Now, though, his eyes flashed with recognition as he caught on, and to buy himself time, he laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his head with a hand.

"Oh, well, you know, when I got out of school, I just thought that I'd make a change. After all, what good is living in a free country if you can't exercise that freedom from time to time? Japan is the best country in the world, so—so that's why I dyed my hair like this."

Naru wanted to kick him in the shins. He was hamming it up far too much, and now the activists were just yards from the two of them. If they bought a performance like that, then they were bigger fools than Naru had expected them to be.

But they swallowed the performance Keitaro gave them hook, line, and sinker.

It was fortunate that save for his fair hair, Keitaro looked roughly Japanese. Sure, he did have rather exotic facial features, but with genetic variation and plastic surgery and such things, features such as his were not impossible to achieve on a 100% Japanese face. So, by pretending that he was Japanese—and a somewhat nationalistic Japanese at that—Keitaro managed to hide from people who would probably beat him up if they knew who he was simply by hiding in plain sight.

A few seconds later, the traffic light changed. Naru and Keitaro crossed the road as fast as they possibly could and didn't stop until they were halfway up the stairs to Hinata Inn.

"Right-wing political rallies, here in Hinata Springs?" Keitaro panted.

Naru knew, by then, that he wasn't gasping for breath because the brisk walk back home had winded him. It didn't really show on his face, not under the dim streetlights that made the path to Hinata Inn visible, but he was terrified.

And Naru couldn't blame him.

"It's a part of life here," she said. "I… don't know what to say."

For a moment, Keitaro didn't reply. He just continued to stride up the stairs, almost at a speed that Naru couldn't match. It was almost like he was trying to get away from something, or perhaps it was some_one_ that he was trying to get away from.

Naru was about to tell him to slow down when he turned, suddenly, and began to speak to her in English rather than Japanese.

"I don't get it," Keitaro said. "'Japan for Japanese'… what does that even mean? So, what, you're not Japanese, so you have to go—but what about all the other people who make Japan great? What about the Korean restaurant we went to? What about Filipino blue collar workers, or Indian IT workers, or Russians, or Turks—and what about people like me?" Keitaro asked. "Am I not Japanese enough for these guys?"

He looked away, for just a moment, before continuing.

"I _am_ Japanese," he said, as if he was trying to convince Naru, or perhaps as if he was trying to convince himself.

"This is the nation of my ancestors, and it always will be. Half of my ancestors are from Europe, and I might… eat lamb kabob and naan and drink masala chai, but I know exactly who I am. I am Japanese, even if some right-wingers don't accept it."

For a moment, Naru simply looked at him. Her expression was almost unreadable, but Keitaro had known her long enough that if he wasn't so distraught, he'd have seen sadness on her face—genuine, heartfelt sadness, that she only barely managed to conceal.

A moment passed

"I'm really sorry you had to go through that, Keitaro," Naru said. "I… know what it's like to be… disliked because of who you are."

That made Keitaro look up and glance at Naru questioningly, but she didn't elaborate. Instead, she simply reached out and placed a hand on his forearm and spoke very slowly, as if she was carefully measuring her words, or as if she was battling with herself in order to say what she said at all.

"I know that I've… been a little distant to you, but… no one should go through stuff like that, ever. So… I'm sorry."

She nodded, and moved to step back, but Keitaro stopped her by placing a hand on hers. He looked at her more seriously than he'd ever looked at her before, and shook his head.

"You didn't do anything wrong. In fact, you… might have literally saved my life back there. If you hadn't given me that out, I… don't know what would have happened next. I'm… indebted to you."

Keitaro took a step back, and bowed deeply to Naru. When he straightened up, he saw that she was not smiling at him.

But, on the other hand, the hardness he was accustomed to seeing in her eyes was rather conspicuously missing.

The two of them turned, then, in a mutually but silently agreed-upon ritual, and continued up what remained of the staircase leading to Hinata Inn. When they entered, Keitaro opened the door so that Naru could go first, as always—but this time, she actually thanked him for it.

And this time, Kitsune watched her best friend return home late at night with her love interest for more than jealousy and unfounded suspicions.

* * *

"_Ninety-six... ninety-seven… ninety-eight… ninety-nine… one hundred."_

Motoko finished her set with the finesse and grace that was expected of a person of her ancestry and training and sheathed her sword in a single, rapid motion. Not a bead of sweat trickled down her forehead, because although she had been training for an hour already, she had another hour to go before she would allow herself to get tired.

Until then, her body would simply have to learn to live with the demands she placed on it.

It was early in the afternoon, and as such, the Sun was high in the sky. Motoko therefore felt less cold than she would have otherwise, as the day was surprisingly chilly, especially for that part of the year, but she didn't let that stop her. She was a warrior—and apart from that, Keitaro didn't let it stop him, either.

He was training harder than she had ever seen him train before. From the time he'd arrived at Hinata Inn, Keitaro trained harder in a day than most people did in a year, but since then he'd one-upped himself. Now, when he was training, he didn't rest, didn't take breaks, didn't stop, didn't slow down, barely breathed.

Sometimes he wore weighted vests while riding, in order to force himself to learn to jump as far and high as he could. Other times, he held his breath while riding in order to simulate the lack of oxygen there would be in high altitude environments, like the one where the Yokohama Invitational would begin.

When he fell, which wasn't often, he got right back up and trained extra hard to make up for lost time. Or else, he would stay down and do squats or a core workout.

How he managed to accomplish such physical feats was a mystery to Motoko. Her own training gave her plenty of strength and enough stamina to run down even the most determined of criminals, but she could not deny that she'd be exhausted if she attempted to do half of what Keitaro did on a daily basis.

Motoko dropped down into a plank position and held it for several minutes, just long enough for her to feel it in her abdomen and lower back. Without pausing, she then began to do pushups, counting off to one hundred.

She wasn't sweating yet. But she was focused enough on what she was doing that when she heard the high-pitched crash of breaking glass and the screams that resulted from it, she hesitated for a palpable second.

Then she realized what was going on. And then, in the blink of an eye, Motoko got to her feet, took up her sword, dashed to the other side of the roof and, without pausing, jumped off of it.

She wasn't suicidal, though, and she didn't aim to land on the several dozen square feet of stones directly in front of Hinata Inn. Instead, she landed on a lower roof, perhaps a story down from the terrace where she had been, and held her sword outward, taking a powerful, stable horse stance. It was a defensive posture, but a rather aggressive one, that sent a crystal clear message to any wrongdoers around: stay back.

But no one was there. Motoko's seething glare pierced through rock, tree, and atmosphere well enough that she could see well into Hinata Springs, but nothing caught her gaze.

After a moment, she tilted her head to the side, just a little, and spoke loudly enough that those in the room behind here—the room whose window had been broken—could hear her.

"Shinobu-chan, Su-chan—are you alright?"

A terrified, shocked voice answered a moment later.

"Y-yes, I think so, Motoko-sempai."

"Get to the back of the house and stay there until I come to get you," Motoko said. She faced forward again, and spoke again after just a few seconds.

"And… call the police."

Motoko couldn't be sure, but she surmised that Shinobu nodded, curtly, before taking Kaolla by the arm and rushing them both into a back room. Motoko glanced after them to ensure that they were alright, and in doing so, she saw the broken glass, the ruined windowpane, and the stone that had been responsible for all of it.

It was large enough to have done serious damage to Shinobu or Kaolla, easily. But it was just small enough for a slingshot to launch a respectable distance…

… which meant that it had almost certainly been fired from some location within Hinata Springs. It also meant that whoever had fired it was probably hidden, now, or simply walking away like nothing in the world was wrong.

Movement—dead ahead and approaching. Motoko raised her sword and prepared to lash out with her most deadly of attacks—

And then she saw that it was just Naru, running up the staircase with a concerned expression on her face.

"What happened?" she called. As she approached, she looked around, before turning her attention back up to Motoko. "I heard glass break—is everything all right?"

Motoko didn't answer for a moment. It was early in the afternoon on a weekday—sure, Naru had officially graduated from high school, but why wasn't she studying? Where had she been, and for that matter, why was the expression on her face so… bland?

"Narusegawa-san, please get Kitsune-san and stay in a back room, away from the front of the house. There's been a small… situation, and the police should be coming soon."

Motoko watched carefully, and saw that Naru seemed to jump a little bit when the police were mentioned. It was almost as if things had just gotten too serious—more serious than she had anticipated.

* * *

Keitaro was pleased with himself. He'd just bested his record for what he'd come to think of as the Hinata Inn lap, a moderate to difficult course several miles in length. Although he had gotten used to the landscape in many ways, it was still varied enough to challenge him and keep him on his toes.

Apart from that, what mattered the most was that he was biking every day. Even the professionals generally only hoped to bike several days a week, and in this aspect Keitaro had a distinct advantage over them. So long as he didn't push himself too hard, he'd be… well, he'd be in a very good position to place well in the Yokohama Invitational.

He made his way back toward Hinata Inn in high spirits, riding his bike in, for once, a rather orthodox fashion. He didn't lean forward and gun the machine to extremes most people couldn't conceive of—he just sat up straight and idled, essentially strolling back home.

It was when Keitaro made his way to the side of the dormitory that he noticed that something was wrong. The Inn's residents and Haruka were standing in front of the inn, speaking to a man in a uniform—in fact, a man in a police officer's uniform.

In fact, they were speaking to a police officer.

Immediately, Keitaro threw his bike aside, barely glancing back to ensure that it didn't fall improperly and shatter into a million pieces (hey—it might have been designed to survive twenty foot drops into rocks, but it was still his beloved bicycle), and ran towards the gathered three. As he approached, he was recognized, and soon, Kitsune brought him up to speed with what had happened.

"Did anyone see anything?" the police officer asked. "Any unfamiliar people in the area, anyone following them, anyone paying too much attention…"

Motoko shook her head.

"I didn't see anyone," she said. "There were only Hinata Springs residents on the back roads, and I recognized all of them. Shinobu-chan, Su-chan—did either of you see anything?"

"N-no," Shinobu answered while, serious for once, Kaolla simply shook her head. Both young girls looked shaken, but alright, and immediately Keitaro felt sorry for the trauma that they'd been through.

"How about you, Naru?" Motoko asked. "You were just coming back to Hinata Inn when it happened. Did you see anything?"

Immediately, Keitaro was confused. Naru was just returning to Hinata Inn, at this hour? From where was she returning? He'd known her for months, now, and even on days off from school, she barely went out of doors. When she did, it was almost always with him, to study, or with Shinobu, to shop, or simply to Haruka's tea shop to drink something. For her to go out in the middle of the day—especially at such a time, when there was another major test coming up—that was severely out of the ordinary, to say the least.

Naru simply shook her head, rather curtly (or was that just Keitaro's imagination?) before looking at Motoko with an intentionally stoic expression on her face.

"Nothing," she said. "Just the normal people in town… that's all."

The police officer looked at Naru for another moment, and then wrote a few more lines on the notepad he'd brought with him.

"Well, if that's all there is, I don't know how much we can do," he said. "We'll send an extra patrol car down the street in front of Hinata Inn tonight—and remember, if you see anything, or remember anything, don't hesitate to call us again."

He sighed, and looked up at the window.

"We rarely have anything this serious in Hinata Springs. I shouldn't be pointing any fingers, but…"

The officer paused, hesitated, but then he looked at the faces around him and he sighed again.

"I'd be surprised if this was just a stupid kid's mischief," he said. "Have you heard about the political 'rally' that took place in Hinata Springs a few days ago?"

Keitaro winced as he nodded, and saw that the rest of the Inn's residents seemed to know what the officer was talking about. Of course, he and Naru knew _exactly_ what he was talking about, but they hadn't told anyone about what had happened, those few days ago, after they'd returned to Hinata Springs from cram school. They simply didn't want to frighten anyone, and apart from that, some things were just better left to fall out of one's perception of reality.

But if this really was the ring-wing extremists, then maybe they were people Keitaro ought to think about more—a _lot_ more.

"Do you really think it was the nationalists, officer-san?" Kitsune asked. "I know that they protest, sometimes, but things like this aren't like them, right?"

"Well, yes and no," the officer replied. "It's true that their involvement in vandalism in criminal activity can almost never be proven in a court of law. Half the time, we don't even have enough evidence to charge them, or even investigate them thoroughly. On the other hand, it's also true that if there's a far right riot somewhere, the houses and businesses with broken windows and worse almost always belong to foreigners."

He then turned to Keitaro with a rather sad, apologetic look on his features. Keitaro wanted to say that he wasn't a foreigner—certainly, not after spending so many months in Japan, speaking only Japanese, eating only Japanese, _living_ only Japanese—but then he realized that in the eyes of some, he always would be.

Keitaro looked at the people around him. They were his friends, his acquaintances, and, in Haruka's case, his own family. He knew each of them well and, in a way, cared for each of them, and yet he knew, just by looking at them and the way they looked back at him, there would always be distance between them, simply because of the fact that he was not fully Japanese in terms of blood, culture, or nationality. In many ways, even Kaolla was more Japanese than he was.

He felt almost insecure, for a moment, before Kitsune reached out and placed her hand on his forearm. He looked at her, uncertain of how to react, but she didn't flinch and she didn't back down. Instead—in large part because it was in the full view of everyone, including Naru—she moved her hand down, a little, until it was gently wrapped around Keitaro's.

Keitaro then felt slightly less insecure. Then, he actually felt good about who he was, and then, for the briefest moment, he held Kitsune's hand in return.

The police officer cleared his throat to remind the group that he was still there, and tucked his notepad under his arm.

"I'll be sure to look into this back at the station. There will be extra patrols around here tonight, but remember, if anything happens, or if you see anything or anyone who looks suspicious, don't hesitate to call."

Keitaro bowed, briefly, along with the rest of the inn's residents, before the officer turned to leave. When he straightened up, he'd let go of Kitsune's hand and, instead of looking at her, was looking at the shattered window on the second floor.

Of all the times to be responsible for an extra hour or more of work. The YI was coming soon, a major mock test was coming even sooner, and the whole while, Keitaro would have to think about the fair-haired vixen next to him, and if they really were just friends after all.

* * *

(The next chapter will focus a bit more on Kitsune's relationship with Keitaro, and should be up within a few weeks. Remember to review, favorite, and watch as necessary.)


	11. Chapter 11

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Eleven

* * *

"You know, Keitaro, if you ever want anyone to talk to… I'm here for you."

"Yeah. I know."

That felt like too curt of an answer, so Keitaro was sure to follow it up with a smile. Haruka responded by half-smiling in return and then got back to her never-ending task of sweeping her tea shop's floor.

It was a slow day that day, and so Keitaro had come down to see his cousin while he studied. There was no cram school that day, and he'd already gotten more than enough hours of biking in, so there wasn't much else to do but to read, take notes, and mooch free tea off of Haruka for however long she would tolerate it.

But Haruka would tolerate it forever, because, frankly, the last thing Keitaro needed to worry about right now was paying for tea.

Honestly, she didn't know how he did it. Studying to get into Tokyo U, practicing for one of the most famous and dangerous mountain biking races in the world, and managing a dormitory all at the same time ought to have driven him to insanity long ago, but he was coping, as far as she could tell, and not a crack had appeared in his perfectly calm, happy personality since he'd come to Japan.

Those few days ago, when there had been the… incident with the rock and the window, Keitaro had been rattled, Haruka was sure of that. Since then, though, things had more or less returned to normal.

Haruka sighed and put her broom away. She sat down at Keitaro's table, across from him, and glanced at what he was doing. She barely understood a word of it, and it wasn't just because Keitaro had the handwriting skills of a doctor—it was tough stuff, and she was surprised that he even had to study it just to get into Tokyo U.

"So," Haruka said, "how are things going with the girls?"

"Oh, they're going alright," Keitaro said without looking up from what he was doing. He then set down his book and met Haruka's eyes.

"Kaolla's as crazy as ever, Shinobu's still a sweet girl, Motoko's doing me a big favor by being a guardian angel…"

His voice trailed off, then, so Haruka prompted him.

"What about Naru?"

Keitaro thought before answer answering in a slow, uncertain tone.

"I'm not… quite sure," he admitted.

"Before the… the rally and all that, we were never close. I actually got the feeling that she didn't like me, even though she was never really mean or rude, but since then… I'm not sure," he said. "Things have changed, but I don't know how. She doesn't like to spend time around me, but when she does, she's a lot less cold."

None of that made much sense, Haruka thought, and that sentiment must have showed on her face because Keitaro saw it and grinned.

"I know," he said. "Call me crazy, but that's just my understanding of things. I don't really know what to do, so I'll keep being nice to her, and maybe she'll come around eventually. If not… well, I can honestly say that I have no complaints with Naru at all. She's a perfectly good person… I guess she just doesn't want to be too friendly with me."

Keitaro shrugged, but Haruka could see that he was saddened, if only in the slightest way.

She dropped the subject, though, because she couldn't advise him. She'd known Naru for several years, now, and though she too had no complaints about the long-haired brunette, she too could tell that there was a level to Naru's personality that was just… hard to describe.

"What about Kitsune?" Haruka asked, and Keitaro's answer told her a lot more than he intended for it to.

That was because Keitaro's initial answer was not verbal. When Haruka mentioned Kitsune's name, the first thing Keitaro did was blush.

So. There was something between them that wasn't quite as simple as friendship.

"Well," Keitaro began very, _very_ slowly in a blatant bid to give himself more time to think of an answer, "Kitsune is… a nice girl. A really nice girl," he said. "She's… nice to me, and polite, and kind, and I'm very impressed with how much she's advancing in swimming. And ever since she quit drinking, she's become… well, it's not that she was, you know, dumb," Keitaro said, "but you know how people are when they drink heavily. It just… takes a lot away from them. And now that Kitsune quit drinking, it's like she's a whole new person."

"And do you like that person?" Haruka asked.

"Oh, yes," Keitaro answered without hesitation. He took a sip of tea and looked past Haruka, aimlessly out the window and over the stone paved back roads of Hinata Springs. "I like her a lot."

Haruka wasn't the sort of person to smile often, or easily, but she was smiling now. Really, she shouldn't have been surprised—given the sort of person Keitaro was and given that he'd been in contact with a practical harem of single young ladies for some months, now, she'd honestly be surprised if nothing romantic at all came of it.

It seemed, though, that Keitaro and Kitsune might actually have a future together. True, just now, Keitaro had a lot on his mind—but what about after the Yokohama Invitational? What about after Keitaro got into Tokyo U? Then, his mind would be clear, and he'd be at the proper place in his life to start to look for a girlfriend; a real, proper girlfriend who wasn't just a person to attend parties with or kiss or whatever.

For her part, Haruka was certain that Kitsune was interested in Keitaro. In fact, probably _everyone_ was certain that Kitsune was interested Keitaro, except for Keitaro himself. Or, perhaps Keitaro _did_ realize that Kitsune was interested in him, but he was just trying to focus on more important things, for the moment, and would come to a more clear decision about her after he was less distracted.

Regardless, things between Keitaro and Kitsune would become… interesting in the next several months. Haruka had high hopes for them, and—

There was a sound, then, like the loud, distinctive _bang_ of a car crash. Immediately, Haruka looked up to see what had happened.

And that was when she realized that the bang wasn't from Hinata Springs. It was from Hinata Inn.

* * *

The damage was severe, and it was a surprise that no one had gotten badly hurt or worse. On Mythbusters, the damage an exploding water heater could do to a structure had been portrayed in an almost humorous manner, but now, when the damage had actually been done to a building that housed people and was supposed to house them safely, it was no laughing matter at all.

The hot water heater itself was huge, since it needed to service a large house, and for that reason when it had exploded it had taken out part of the structure of Hinata Inn itself.

Half of Motoko's room had also been blasted away. It was simply due to good luck that her weapons and armor hadn't been destroyed along with it.

The next several hours were a blur for the residents of Hinata Inn. First, Keitaro and Haruka made sure that everyone was alright—everyone was, fortunately—and then they tried to figure out what had gone wrong, along with the police, who had arrived on the scene just minutes after the explosion had been reported.

It had not been an accident. Hot water heaters didn't just blow up by themselves, and apart from that… moments before the explosion, someone who lived nearby had seen a long-haired, hooded figure running away from the inn.

And so the police and the residents of Hinata Inn immediately made up their minds about who had done it: the same extreme nationalists who had broken the window in the first place. Haruka accepted this explanation, and the friendly cop who had spoken to them just those few days ago accepted it as well.

For that reason, Keitaro was the only one who looked at Naru with suspicion in his eyes that night. He was the only one who thought that her silence that night wasn't a result of shock or fear, but grim, cold, satisfaction.

* * *

"I don't know how I'm going to do this. We barely had enough money saved up to fix a broken window, and this'll take weeks—maybe months to repair."

"I'm sure there's something we can do—insurance. What about the insurance? Sure, it wasn't a natural disaster, but it's not something we were responsible for, so—"

Keitaro just shook his head. He scoffed, and looked away from Kitsune and stared, blankly, beyond her.

"Hinata Inn is uninsured."

"What?"

"It always has been," Keitaro said, looking back at Kitsune. "Ever since before I got it. I checked—no insurance whatsoever, and when I looked into getting it, I found out that since… I'm kind of the owner and kind of not, I don't have the authority to get insurance for it. So, I didn't… and now, I have to find a way to pay for repairing Hinata Inn out of pocket."

He paused. Then, he glanced at Haruka, the only other person in the tea shop just then.

"So, if Grandmother Hina had a secret emergency fund or something… now would be a great time to tell me about it."

Haruka just shook her head, though, and lit up another cigarette.

"There's nothing like that," she grunted. "All there was was her nest egg, but she has control of that… and it's probably half gone by now, considering how she travels…"

For a moment, Keitaro simply sat still. The expression on his face was difficult to read, and it almost seemed that he was doing nothing more than sitting there, toying with the fine china cup in his hands and enjoying his surroundings. While Haruka's tea shop had a homely feel about it, it was comfortable and very clean.

Apart from that, it was very well insulated. And that was the only reason no one but Haruka and Kitsune heard Keitaro strike the wall with an open handed blow powerful enough to cause the wall to shake.

In less than a second, Keitaro had stood up and hit the wall with his palm, rather than his fist, and that was why he felt a dull pain emanating from the heel of his hand, rather than the hot agony of several broken fingers. He'd hit a crossbeam and that had prevented his hand from shattering through the drywall, causing thousands of yen of damage.

Still, this wasn't like Keitaro at all. No one had ever seen him even vaguely upset, but then, he'd just snapped. Even now, he was staring at the wall and breathing rapidly and deeply enough that his shoulders were visibly rising and falling, and it was by no means clear that he'd discharged all of his anger. In fact, for more than a few moments, Keitaro seemed on the verge of hitting the wall again.

In time, however, his tension slowly eased and he managed to breathe more calmly. He continued to stare at the wall for a few moments before he stood straight, took a deep breath, and turned to face Kitsune and Haruka again.

"I'm sorry about that," he said slowly, in an uncertain tone. Although he'd turned back toward Kitsune and Haruka, he looked neither of them in the eye.

"It's just… I don't know what we can do about this," he continued. "I don't have any money saved up, and I can't ask anyone for hundreds of thousands of yen to fix this. I'm really… I don't know what to do."

Keitaro sat back down, heavily, and held his face tightly with one hand. Although he wasn't yet twenty years old, just then, he seemed far, far older than that indeed.

"The only way out of this for me is to relinquish ownership of Hinata Inn," Keitaro said. He sat up a little bit, but still he didn't look at either Kitsune or Haruka. "I can honestly say I've given this my best shot, but recovering from something like this, with my hands tied behind my back… I—I just can't," Keitaro said.

And he had a good point. After all, had he not given running Hinata Inn his absolute best effort? Had he not done far more than his responsibilities ought to have entailed by spending every spare cent he got from rent on repairs or maintenance that ought to have been done years ago? Had he not done this—all this—while studying so hard that he had a good shot at getting into one of the very best universities in all of Japan, and had he not done this while practicing for the one most notorious and prestigious mountain biking competition in the world?

Most people would have given up long before Keitaro had, and many wouldn't have even to tried to take on the challenges that he had. But even the most tenacious of individuals would have given up, then and there, with their heads held high. After all, there was nothing wrong with cutting one's losses and retreating, and there was nothing to be gained by stubbornly refusing to admit that some challenges were insurmountable.

Keitaro, on the other hand, seemed sad in a way that was difficult to define. There was a strange confusion in his eyes that few people could understand, but Kitsune did.

He'd never failed in his life. Never had he ever come close to failing, and everything he tried, he succeeded at. But now, he'd failed, and his failure was… well, it was significant. Hinata Inn had been owned by his family for generations, and was one of the landmarks of Kanagawa District. No matter who he became or what he did in life, this failure would haunt him forever, and this moment was when Keitaro was starting to realize that and that there was no way around it.

It was shocking. It was heartbreaking. That was why Kitsune couldn't allow it to happen.

And that was why, after taking in a deep breath, she began to speak about something she'd barely thought about in months.

"About a year ago," she began slowly, "my uncle, on my father's side, died. His estate should have gone to my father—since he was next-of-kin—but it turns out that… it went to me instead."

She looked past the barrage of questions on each Keitaro and Haruka's lips—why hadn't she ever mentioned the death of her uncle, why had his money gone to her, and for that matter, what on Earth had happened between her and her parents that she never, ever, ever mentioned them to anyone. Instead, Kitsune continued, and this time she did so while looking Keitaro in the eye.

"A lot of it's invested, but the cash I can take out at will, is about three million yen. If that's not enough, then I can liquidate the investments, eat the early withdrawal fees, and have ten million yen in a few days."

Kitsune glanced away for a brief second before looking back at Keitaro.

"I'll pay to fix Hinata Inn. And I'll write about what's happened in my newspaper," she went on. "If there's one thing Japanese can't stomach, it's shame, and the shame of breaking someone's window, and then doing something like this," she gestured at Hinata Inn, "something that could have easily killed a few people… the town won't be able to bear it. We'll have money chipped in to help with repairs, and the next time extreme nationalists march around here, we'll be there with counter-protestors."

"But Kitsune," Keitaro interrupted, "what about all of your money? I can't accept a gift like this, and even if I do become full owner of Hinata Inn, it'll be years before I can pay you back."

Kitsune immediately began to try to insist that Keitaro accept her money as a gift, but she caught herself before she said two words. He wouldn't budge on something like this; she could have told that just by looking with him even if she'd never met him before in her life. So, eventually, she offered a compromise.

"How about… when you become full owner of Hinata Inn, you can increase the rent or something," Kitsune offered. "That way, you can pay me back over time, and in a few years, we'll be square again."

For a moment, Keitaro seemed skeptical of that idea, but his position meant that if he declined Kitsune's offer, he'd have to relinquish control of Hinata Inn, then and there—and to the state. Apart from that, he was sure there wasn't anything he could do to make her accept something closer to her fair share in repayment, so… after a moment, Keitaro nodded. He smiled, nodded, and then he actually reached out and placed his hand on Kitsune's wrist.

"Thank you, Kitsune," he said almost solemnly, before he smiled in a surprisingly vibrant manner. "I won't forget this, and I promise I'll pay you back as soon as I can. With interest, and don't try to say no to that," he continued when Kitsune started to protest. He simply smiled again before sitting back in his chair. The sadness that had been in his eyes a moment ago was gone.

"I think it would be best if we didn't tell anyone about this," Haruka said a moment later. "It seems like it would make things too difficult and confusing, so we'll just tell everyone that Grandmother Hina had an emergency account. That way, we can avoid any questions about… difficult subjects."

Kitsune nodded at that more than Keitaro did. But when Haruka said that they weren't out of hot water yet, because even with money, repairs would be a difficult and time-consuming process, Keitaro nodded more than Kitsune did.

* * *

It was late on a Thursday afternoon that Keitaro and Naru began to make their way from Hinata Inn to the now familiar bus stop that would take them to cram school. There were few words between them, but the atmosphere wasn't exactly cold. Certainly, it wasn't warm, but Keitaro didn't sense any malice on Naru's part against him.

He'd kept busy all day by biking, before taking an hour or so off to eat, shower, and watch some videos of cats online. He would have spent a few more hours relaxing and perhaps studying if Kitsune had been around, but she'd had to go to work in the city that day, so he wouldn't see her until evening.

At least, that was what he'd assumed. Now, even as he and Naru descended the stairs leading from Hinata Inn, he could see Kitsune ascending towards them.

Almost immediately, and for no reason that he could think of, Keitaro began to feel self-conscious. He hadn't dressed badly to go to cram school, not at all, but his cargo pants and track jacket made him look rather sloppy compared to the sleek, pinstriped suit that Kitsune was wearing. She'd done something to style her hair, too, so everything about her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes was picture perfect.

When Kitsune was finally close enough to speak to, Keitaro found himself standing extra straight and tall and deepening his voice just a hair.

"Hello, Kitsune," he greeted her. "How was work?"

"Hey, Naru, Keitaro," Kitsune replied. "Work was… okay, I guess."

She smirked, then, and reached into her purse for a folded-up newspaper. A moment later, she had opened it to the second page, where an op-ed article headlined the whole thing.

Keitaro didn't quite understand what he was looking at. Naru, however, recognized the characters symbolizing Kitsune's name almost immediately.

"No way!" Naru exclaimed. "You finally got it published—on the second page? Congratulations!"

When Naru said that, Keitaro reached out to take the paper from Kitsune's hand so that he could read it a bit more carefully. It was titled, "My Experience with Japanese Xenophobia" and took up perhaps half of the page. It hadn't been broken up, and two pictures of Hinata Inn—one of the broken window, and another of the gaping wound caused by the exploded hot water heater—were included in it.

"Congratulations, Kitsune," Keitaro echoed a moment later. "This is really a huge accomplishment. I'll be sure to pick up a copy of the newspaper later… maybe you can even autograph it for me, so that I can resell it for thousands of yen in a few years, when you're a rich and famous journalist."

"Very funny," Kitsune said, though Naru didn't miss the pink tinge that appeared on her cheeks as she responded. "I'll sign your imaginary newspaper if you sign my imaginary bike."

"I'll sign your imaginary bike right now with my imaginary pen," Keitaro said. He briefly thought about kneeling and pretending to do just that, but that would be too cheesy, so he just laughed along with Kitsune as Naru winced and looked away.

"But really," Keitaro continued a moment later, "this is a seriously big deal for you, Kitsune."

"It is," Naru agreed. "It seems like you've been struggling to be taken seriously by your boss for years… but now, you've finally done it, Kitsune. Have the terms of your contract changed?"

"Not yet," Kitsune said. "But my boss said that she'd take a look at some of the articles I've published in the past. If she likes them enough… then I might not be a freelance writer for much longer."

For a moment, no one said anything. Kitsune's career wasn't something she'd taken seriously in the past few years; instead, she'd earned just enough to get by. Everyone had thought that she'd simply keep doing that for a few years before she finally got serious and found a real job or got married, but instead it looked like she'd become one of the select few journalists who worked full time and were taken seriously by their peers, their superiors, and the public at large.

"I wish we could stay to talk more," Keitaro said a few moments later, "but Naru and I have to get to cram school. We'll be back later—and hey, maybe we can celebrate a little tomorrow. What do you think? It's been some time since any of us have really relaxed, ever since…"

His voice trailed off. Since the hot water heater had exploded, everyone at Hinata Inn had been more than a little on edge. Keitaro had saved some of the money Kitsune had given—no, had _lent_ him—and had a security system installed, but that hadn't comforted anyone. If there was ever a time to have some fun to take everyone's minds off of their struggles, this was it.

Kitsune seemed to agree with the idea. Naru, however, was less than enthusiastic.

"Maybe," she said. "You and me might have to study, Keitaro. There's supposed to be a test at cram school in the next few days, remember? So, if it's not today, then it'll probably be on Monday. I studied a lot earlier this week, but you can never study too much, can you?... Keitaro?"

Keitaro was nonresponsive for a moment. After Naru had mentioned the test, he'd gone pure white.

He'd forgotten about it completely. He'd had to keep track of the repairs and all of the trouble and headache that involved, and he'd had to keep up his biking, and so while he'd studied, he hadn't put his nose to the grindstone nearly as much as he would have if he'd remembered the test.

But there was no changing that now. Keitaro forced himself to grin so that neither Kitsune nor Naru would suspect that anything was wrong, and nodded.

"That's true," he admitted, "but I can almost guarantee that the test will be tonight. After all, why wouldn't it?" _"With luck like mine,"_ he added to himself, before laughing.

Kitsune and Naru awkwardly joined him a few seconds later, but then, Keitaro and Naru really did have to go. They said goodbye to Kitsune and hurried to catch their bus.

Keitaro tried to study on the ride to cram school, but he felt himself getting too on edge and anxious for it to do any good. So, he put his notes away and simply closed his eyes and kept them shut until he and Naru arrived at their stop.

* * *

"Well, at least my luck is consistent," Keitaro muttered to himself as he stood up, slowly putting his pencil and eraser back into his backpack. _"It's consistently abysmal."_

To be fair, he hadn't done _badly_ on the test. Not really. He didn't feel that he'd done badly on it, anyway, but he wasn't sure. Perhaps he'd gotten an eighty, or perhaps a seventy, but he didn't think he'd done too badly. On the other hand, he was pretty sure that he hadn't done very well on it, either.

There was no helping it now, though, and at least Keitaro was less stressed about his performance on the test than his classmates seemed to be. Several of them seemed to be suffering nervous breakdowns then and there, and more than a few were simply sitting at their desks with their heads in their hands.

Keitaro allowed himself to feel a moment of sympathy for his fallen comrades before he put his backpack on and sluggishly headed toward the door with the rest of his peers. Naru had finished the test some minutes before and had already turned it in and left the examination hall, but Keitaro wasn't quite as smart, or confident, as she was.

He smiled at Professor Nawaz and was just about to leave when the older man stopped him.

"Can you make time in the afternoon next Wednesday or Thursday?" he asked. "I want to take you to Tokyo University for a few hours before cram school."

The unexpected offer made Keitaro freeze, briefly, before he smiled and nodded vigorously. Sure, the YI was getting closer and closer, but he wouldn't miss an opportunity like this for the world. Better yet, it seemed that Professor Nawaz really was taking a liking to him, and being close to a professor would be incredibly helpful to him in the future in terms of educational opportunities, and beyond that, opportunities for careers and professional contacts.

"I'll make time," Keitaro said. "I'm definitely interested in getting a look around Tokyo University, especially with a professor. I really appreciate this, Professor Nawaz," Keitaro said seriously, but the older man simply smiled.

"I'm always happy to help students, as long as they have backbone and a vision for the future like you do. Unfortunately, you lot are a rare breed," he said, switching to Urdu. "I can't count the number of times I've asked students about what they want out of life, only to see them stare at me like I'm an alien because they've never thought about it before."

That statement made Keitaro's face fall a bit, because despite everything… he really wasn't sure what he wanted out of life. He wanted to go to Tokyo U, and he wanted to be a biker, but as far as a career went, and what sort of life he intended to lead... in a way, Keitaro had always intended to make it up as he went along.

"Or maybe you need some guidance in that part of your life too," Nawaz offered, and Keitaro could do nothing but shyly nod in agreement. "Very well then, we'll meet for lunch first. There's a special lobster dish in the Tokyo U cafeteria that everybody likes."

"Such a thing exists?" Keitaro said. "It sounds delicious… okay, I'll meet you at Tokyo University just before lunchtime. Thank you very much, Professor. I truly appreciate this."

"Not a problem, my boy," the professor smiled. "Come to think of it, if that girl you always hang around is interested, she can come along too," he said. "Her name is… Narusegawa, right? She's been an excellent student these past few months, and if you're friendly with her, she can't be that bad, right?"

For a moment, Keitaro hesitated. Just for a moment.

"Unfortunately, Narusegawa will be busy this coming week," he said. "She has school, and there are some exams and project work to do, so I don't think she'll be able to make it. I'll be sure to ask her, though," he added.

"Excellent," Nawaz said. "Alright, I'll see you on Monday, then. Have a good weekend—oh, and be sure to take some videos of your biking and bring them with you next week. The professor I told you about is starting to get serious about starting a mountain biking club, and he wants to put together a small compilation video of what the sport's about. We'll spend some time with him… I think you'll like him. Maybe you can look him up online; he's an American and his name is David Martinson."

"Professor Martinson in the math department," Keitaro said, remembering the detail that Nawaz had mentioned all those weeks ago, "alright, I got it. _Bahad shukria_, Professor," he thanked Nawaz again, and then it really was time to go.

Keitaro was smiling as he walked away, and his spirits were so good that he didn't feel the slightest amount of guilt for having lied to Professor Nawaz. Naru didn't have any exams the next week, and it would be a cold day in Hell when he let her in on an opportunity like the one Nawaz had just offered him.

* * *

When Naru and Keitaro made their way up the walk to Hinata Inn, Keitaro found himself thinking heavily on the girl at his immediate right. Things between them… were complicated, to say the least. Ever since Keitaro had come to Hinata Springs, Naru had been less than welcoming, and while some immediate suspicion (and perhaps even more than that) was justified owing to the way they'd met, everyone else seemed to agree that Keitaro had proven himself to be a trustworthy and decent person. And as time had gone on, Keitaro had come to be on friendly terms with everyone in Hinata Inn, even Kaolla.

But there had never really been any warmth between himself and Naru, and he had no idea why. He was always polite and friendly with her until her continual rebuffs had led him to limit his time with her. Then, things had changed, a few weeks ago, and she'd been so blatantly sexual toward him that he even stopped studying with her.

And then she had surprised Keitaro thoroughly by putting herself in a potentially dangerous position by effectively marking him as a full-blooded Japanese, just before he could be set upon by a xenophobic mob.

Now… Keitaro wasn't sure what existed between them. It wasn't friendship, but it wasn't anything negative either, at least as far as Keitaro could tell. He and Naru were apparently on cordial relations, but no matter what, he couldn't prevent the shadows of suspicion rise in his mind whenever he thought about her.

That was why he hadn't told her about Professor Nawaz's offer earlier that evening. As unlikely, as crazy as it might seem to other people, Keitaro simply did not trust Naru, and for that reason, he wasn't willing to help her out in any way that he could avoid. He'd continue to try to appear friendly to her, but when it really came down to it, he was no friend of hers. And if he could ever find a way to get her out of Hinata Inn and out of his life, he'd do it.

For now, though, he simply glanced at her a smiled.

"So… how do you feel about the exam, Keitaro-kun?" Naru asked.

She'd recently added the "kun" suffix to his name again. Generally, he had been "Keitaro" to her, or "Urashima" when she was busy or upset, but now he was "Keitaro-kun" again, or even "Kei-kun" at times. Sure, she smiled as she looked at him, but Keitaro couldn't accept that that smile was sincere. Something about it—something about _her_—was just off.

"I think… I did okay," Keitaro said after a moment. "I wasn't really unsure about anything, but I don't really feel that great about it, either. So, the good news is that there's nothing I'm bad at, but the bad news is that there's nothing I'm good at, either." He grinned at the joke and was surprised to hear Naru doing the same.

"That's not bad," Naru said. "A lot of our classmates looked like they had no idea what was going on, and Tokyo U entrance exams are normalized. So, you don't have to be perfect—you just have to be good enough that you stand out from the herd."

That made Keitaro feel a bit better about his performance, and it was a moment before he remembered his suspicions of Naru. He didn't reply and they made the remainder of the walk up to Hinata Inn in silence.

As they did, they became increasingly aware that the downstairs lights in Hinata Inn were on, and that there were several people speaking at the same time. That was very rare at this hour, and it was a moment before Keitaro realized what was going on.

"They started the party without us," Keitaro said. "Kitsune must have told everyone about her article."

He was correct, and as he and Naru entered Hinata Inn, they were greeted with the obvious signs of a celebration. There wasn't any loud music and there was no alcohol, but everyone was talking, laughing, and happy. Shinobu had worked hard just a few hours before to prepare a multi-course meal of fried rice, sushi, tempura, and lamb kabob with mint chutney and yogurt sauce (Keitaro could have kissed her when he tasted a piece of it), and if he and Naru hadn't missed the bus they usually took to get home, they would have arrived just as anything was finished cooking.

As Keitaro and Naru joined in, Keitaro observed just how happy everyone seemed to finally have a chance to relax. Things had been tense in the past few weeks, but now, even Motoko seemed to be smiling and having a good time. Even Naru wasn't being as curt and gruff as she usually was toward Keitaro, and even Haruka was smiling from time to time.

For a few hours the merrymaking continued, until it started to get quite late and people started to really have to get to sleep in order to meet their responsibilities for the next day. For his part, Keitaro resolved to clean up in the morning as he'd had a long, tiring day, but that didn't stop him from taking a few dirty dishes to the sink just to get him started. He noticed, then, that Kitsune hadn't quite wandered to her bedroom yet.

Instead, she brought a few dishes to the sink with him, and when they were alone in the kitchen, out of earshot of everyone, she very quietly asked him if he'd like to go snowboarding over the weekend with her.

* * *

(Sorry for the long delay, but I hope to write at a more reasonable pace in the coming months. Anyway, please tell me your comments about this chapter by reviewing it. I have a few possibilities in mind about where I'd like the story to go, but I'll only be able to respond to what my audience wants if I get feedback. Either way, see you next chapter.)


	12. Chapter 12

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Twelve

* * *

It was said that the first time one went snowboarding, one simply spent a lot of time falling down and struggling to avoid careening off the edge of the slope. Keitaro had hoped that this might not hold true for him since he was a seasoned veteran at mountain biking, but as it turned out, his natural clumsiness was a huge liability on the snow. More than once he'd fallen down black diamond courses, and he'd gone head-over-heels down beginner slopes more times than he cared to imagine.

That was on Friday.

Now that it was Saturday, he was doing significantly better. Sure, he wasn't cutting his way down the slopes with the ease of a professional, but he was starting to enjoy himself.

"Race you to the bottom of the slope, Keitaro," said a friendly voice from his five o'clock position.

But by the time Keitaro turned to look at Kitsune, she was right next to him, red-cheeked from the cold but grinning and happy.

"You'll win," Keitaro protested. "I can barely stay upright for more than a few minutes—it won't even be fair!"

"I'll go easy on you," Kitsune compromised, but Keitaro didn't look convinced. "I'll… put my right foot forward."

Kitsune was goofy-footed, which mean that keeping her right foot forward would likely make her as awkward and off-balance as Keitaro was. If that was the case… then he had half a chance at beating her.

"Alright, Kitsune," Keitaro said. "You'll race goofy-footed, and I'll race fast."

As he said that final word, he pushed off, giving himself a one or two second advantage that might be the difference between victory and defeat.

The snowboarding resort where he and Kitsune had gone for that weekend was northwest of Osaka in Kansai, where Kitsune hailed from. It was a rather pleasant place, all things considered, with no fewer than fifteen different slopes. It accommodated all levels of skiers and snowboarders, and at this time of the year, it was all but deserted. In fact, it was only through the use of several state-of-the-art snow machines that skiing or snowboarding there was possible at all.

The train ride to the resort had been hellishly long, Keitaro acknowledged, but it had been easily worth it. He'd never been snowboarding before, and to go snowboarding at a place like this was a dream. The air was crystal clear and pure, and the seemingly infinite forests that covered the surrounding mountainsides with a year-round dark green saturation lent an almost ethereal nature to the landscape.

Apart from that, he couldn't think of anyone he'd rather go on such a pleasant vacation with than Kitsune.

They had talked the whole train ride to the resort, perhaps to the chagrin of their fellow passengers, and Keitaro was surprised by just how little he knew about Kitsune, and how little she knew about him. Despite the weeks—and now the _months_ that they'd lived together, he was so busy that he almost never had time to just sit down and chat. And now that Kitsune's career was being kicked into the high gear, time might be a scarcer resource for her, too.

They'd found out, though, that despite how differently they'd grown up, there were similarities between them. Keitaro had grown up watching Power Rangers and DragonBall Z, and so had Kitsune. Kitsune had been "persuaded" into learning to play the violin when she had been younger, and so had Keitaro. She had a few years on him, sure, but in many ways, Kitsune got the feeling that Keitaro liked to talk to her because it was like talking to an older, female version of himself.

That is, an older, female version of himself without talents or a good work ethic, who'd spent the past few years of her life lounging around and killing her liver.

That thought made Kitsune feel a moment of pain, before she swallowed it down and focused on what she was doing. She'd made mistakes in her life, no doubt about that, but she was shaping up now. Apart from that, there had been some points, a few years ago, when her life had really started to take a turn for the worse, but she'd made it out of those dark days, too. If nothing else, that spoke to her will to live and to succeed, and now she was starting to succeed. With one hard-hitting article under her belt before she was aged 25, who knew where she could be in another five or ten years?

Keitaro's place in life might be biking, and there was no doubt that he'd make a name for himself in the world by doing that. But, Kitsune thought, there was no reason why she couldn't make a name for herself by focusing on her own talents.

Still, he was twenty feet ahead of her, and moving surprisingly fast. If she wanted to beat him, and prove to herself that there were things that she could do better than him, she'd have to focus.

"Alright, Mr. Urashima," Kitsune grinned, "let's see if you can _really_ snowboard."

Shifting more weight to her front foot, Kitsune felt herself start to go faster. She had trouble balancing, for a moment, but by crouching down somewhat she was able to go faster still, while lowering her center of gravity. In seconds, she had passed through the confusing, icy slipstream that Keitaro left behind him, and seconds after that, she was almost level with him.

He hadn't noticed, and for that reason, he was still apparently somewhat complacent, convinced that his initial advantage would last for some moments yet. Kitsune thought about tapping him on the shoulder, or perhaps whispering something in his ear, but decided against it. Instead, she veered away from the center of the slope and began to hug the corners. In this manner, she slipped ahead of Keitaro within a moment or so.

It was fortunate that there were only a few other people on the slopes, just then, because Keitaro and Kitsune were each going at a respectable speed. In a race like this, Kitsune was grateful that she was used to keeping her eyes half shut, because Keitaro would have to squint to avoid getting particles of snow and ice in his eyes. As fast as they were going, that was a real hazard, and they were only going faster still.

The course ahead took them on a winding path through the forest, and there were several points at which the slope split off in two or three directions, only to suddenly consolidate itself some yards ahead. Keitaro slowed down to avoid crashing into one of the several trees that seemed to be right in the middle of the slope, but Kitsune was an experienced enough snowboarder that she was confident going as fast as she was.

She started to pull ahead.

Keitaro didn't like that, and as he seemed to have forgotten his habitual clumsiness, when the twisting paths ended, he tucked low and stepped forward on his snowboard, so that his weight was oriented more down the slope. Kitsune could hear him catching up, but the bottom of the slope was just ahead. She could see the hundred or so square meters of clearing where a warming hut waited next to a ski lift, and so she simply had to hold her lead in order to win.

Then, several things happened so rapidly that they may have happened all at once.

Kitsune was goofy-footed, and although she was a good enough snowboard to go forward with the wrong side of her board, she wasn't quite good enough to do this at high speeds, or for long periods of time. In order to avoid a patch of ice she noticed on the path ahead of her, Kitsune tried to turn—but going that fast, she couldn't do so quite quickly enough. She hit the ice and struggled to regain her balance, but the combination of speed, her half-complete turn, and her awkward posture made her wipe out.

Some meters behind her, Keitaro's good luck at holding his clumsiness at bay had just ended. For some reason, or perhaps for no reason at all, he tripped, fell, and, screaming, began to go head over heels just behind Kitsune.

By the time they both picked themselves up off the snow and ensured that they hadn't injured anything, except perhaps for their respective prides, it became clear that they had fallen into the clearing at more or less the same time. The race was a tie, so they'd both lost.

For a moment, Keitaro and Kitsune simply stared each other, panting and shivering from their efforts. Then, they started to laugh at themselves.

"Well, since it was a tie, I guess we're even," Keitaro said. "That means that we should both buy drinks for tonight."

"Drinks?" Kitsune repeated, but Keitaro simply sighed, nodding, and began to dust some of the snow from his jacket and pants.

"Yeah," he affirmed. "It's been a long time for both of us, and we're on vacation, so why not? Just as long as we don't overdo it, it should be okay… I think I'll have a nice cocktail or something, or maybe some vodka with ice. What about you, Kitsune?"

"I think I'll stick to hot chocolate," she said. "I… well, to be honest, it's been a long time since I've had anything to drink, and I don't… I don't want to, you know, go back to drinking the way I used to."

Keitaro looked at Kitsune for a moment, before nodding. They then began to make their way toward the ski lift in almost awkward silence, without looking at one another. It was somewhat late in the afternoon, by then, so while the slopes were open for several more hours, most everyone else was calling it quits for the day in order to prepare for dinner and perhaps clubbing at some of the bars in the towns surrounding the resort. Keitaro had every intention of continuing to snowboard for at least another hour or two, until he was properly exhausted, and that was because at this point, he really couldn't take any days off at all. Even a vacation like this was a liability, and if he did anything to keep himself from being in his absolute best shape, he'd never come close to placing in the Yokohama Invitational.

As it was, having alcohol might not be a good thing for him at all. Then again, all he'd eaten in the day so far was protein and vegetables, so maybe a few hundred throwaway calories wouldn't be too bad…

Keitaro shook his head. As important as these concerns were, just then he had a more pressing concern, and that was Kitsune. She was just next to him, but in many ways, he felt further from her than he had been in quite some time.

"I never asked," he said slowly, as they approached the ski lift. "Kitsune… why did you start to drink?"

He hadn't intend to word the question so bluntly, but now that he'd asked it, he couldn't un-ask it. And, perhaps, asking bluntly was the best way to ask a question like this, because now, Kitsune couldn't easily evade him. If they really were to become close friends, or maybe more than friends, secrets of great magnitude couldn't exist between them.

"I can't put my finger on any one reason," Kitsune admitted. By then, they were in line for the ski lift and were standing rather close to one another. "I guess it's because… growing up, my parents put a lot of pressure on me, and… I never really responded well to it, so I had to get away from my troubles somehow. I had the wrong group of friends, and… well, one thing led to the other, and I fell a long, long way. If Naru hadn't been there, I'd have fallen a lot further, and I might not have gotten up for a long time."

They sat down on the bench seat that lifted them into the sky and began to take them up to the mountain. Since the lift was designed for smaller-framed Japanese people, Keitaro and Kitsune were nearly cramped, and the only way for them to sit comfortably was for Keitaro to rest one hand behind Kitsune's shoulders.

"As it is, I got set back years. I'm just starting to realize that," Kitsune said. "I guess I'm not too old to go to college, but at this point, I'd have to learn so much from the very beginning. I'd have to study in every spare hour I have, and that would mean putting my career at a lower priority. And forget about getting back into swimming," Kitsune said. "There are only so many hours in the day."

Keitaro nodded, as if he understood, but that just made Kitsune scoff sadly and turn away.

"I don't know how you do it, Kei," she said. "Studying for Tokyo U, biking for hours every day, and managing a dormitory full of young adults and teenagers… I've been around you for months, but I don't know how you do it."

"Well, I don't waste much time," Keitaro said. "I don't go on Facebook much, and I don't… waste hours out of the day by watching videos of cats on Youtube or reading badly written fanfiction. You'd be amazed at how much time people can waste every single day, just going on the Internet and sitting there for hours. It's worse than TV like that. I used to have friends in the US—cool, smart guys—who didn't have any real hobbies, because all they did at home was go on the Internet, watch TV, or play videogames. I don't do any of that, though. And I manage my time well, so I can take some time off every so often. There's no secret… all you need is a little willpower."

"Right," Kitsune said skeptically. She shook her head at Keitaro, smiling, and sat just a little closer to him. "Forgive me if I can't believe that a world-class athlete, amazing student, incredible horseback rider and vocalist doesn't have a few superhuman abilities."

Surprisingly, Keitaro flushed somewhat at that and turned away from Kitsune. A moment later, though, he turned back to her and smiled.

"Thanks, Kitsune," he said. "I know that you mean what you say."

He had intended to turn away from her, then, and enjoy the view of the forest and the mountainside, but something about her was so much more inviting than anything else he may have been able to see just then. From the pinkish tinge the cold and the wind had brought to her cheeks, to the several wispy strands of hair that had gotten into her face, she was… actually very good looking. Keitaro had realized this several times in the past, vaguely, but now, with her face so close to his, he found himself truly appreciating just how attractive Kitsune was.

For a moment, he simply looked at her. Then, he began to move closer…

And then they reached the top of the ski lift and had to struggle, for a few seconds, to disembark it. They made their way to the crest of the slope and for a moment, awkwardly tried to avoid one another.

Eventually, they began to snowboard again, down the same slope. This time, they didn't race one another, and indeed their course down the side of the mountain was measured, at best. That was because each Keitaro and Kitsune were not fully invested in what they were doing. Each was thinking about the other, and what the future might hold for the two of them.

* * *

Some hours later, Keitaro and Kitsune had finished snowboarding for the day. The awkwardness between them had long since passed, and after they had spent perhaps half an hour showering, they each had realized how ravenously hungry they were from the hours of strenuous physical activity without breaks or meals. Fortunately, the ski resort had an integrated buffet restaurant on top of the highest mountain in the area, so that was where they went to eat.

Kitsune had researched the place for a few days before she had "spontaneously" asked Keitaro to go there with her, and for that reason, her expectations for the restaurant had been high.

Even so, her expectations were met, and then some, and then some more.

Apparently, that weekend was a slow weekend for the resort, because when Keitaro and Kitsune entered the restaurant, it was almost empty. Except for staff, and a few other couples here and there, they had the place to themselves. The emptiness of the establishment actually added to the private ambiance the dim, candlelit décor was intended to create, and the wooden fixings, overlarge chairs, and fireplaces made Kitsune feel relaxed, warm, and cozy from the first moment she stepped in.

Better yet, since there were so few people there, she and Keitaro were able to get a table just next to the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that separated the restaurant from the elements. The view of the mountains at night was stunning, and when Kitsune pressed her hand against a section of the glass near her seat, she was surprised to see that it was warm.

"It's vacuum-insulated," Keitaro said. "It's got to be. I read about this technology a couple months ago… basically, the window is two panes of glass with a vacuum between them. Vacuums can't conduct heat, so these windows are about as good insulation as walls. If they were normal windows, we'd be freezing cold right now."

"Maybe, but that might be worth the view anyway," Kitsune said. "Gosh, you can see _everything_ from up here."

She had a point. Apart from the several slopes that she and Keitaro had used that day, they could see the few slopes that they hadn't, plus seemingly endless square kilometers of forests and mountains. The wilderness only ended in the very far distance, where suburbs and then the dim glow of cities was just barely visible.

Apart from that, the windows were not vertical; Kitsune noticed this a moment later, and when she did, she looked up. Sure enough, there was an excellent view of the sky as well, and she didn't have to strain at all to see stars—not just stars, but whole constellations! A view like that was impossible to get in the city, when, on good nights, one might see one star at most.

"This is incredible," Kitsune said, what felt like a long time later. "Have you ever seen so many stars at once, Keitaro?"

"Almost, once," Keitaro replied. "It was a couple years ago, when my parents and I went to Chitral for a weekend."

Kitsune didn't reply to that, and by the time Keitaro's sentence had come to a close, his voice had trailed off, and it was easy to guess why. As the two of them had walked closer to the windows, the glare of the lights inside the restaurant had reduced and allowed their perception of the stars to improve dramatically. It was an incredible sight, a stunning one—so much so that it only occurred to Keitaro to post a picture of it to Facebook some minutes later.

After that, they sat down and waited to order for some moments, before they remembered that the restaurant was a buffet and that they were therefore supposed to serve themselves.

Keitaro predictably got a large amount of lean meat—mostly chicken and fish—in addition to some of the salads that were offered. It seemed that the buffet's cuisine of choice was generic American or western, which meant that Kitsune wasn't familiar with all of the dishes. For the most part, she followed Keitaro's lead, and ended up getting a meal not dissimilar to what he was getting, except that it was of considerably smaller proportions.

It was then that the two young people realized how hungry they were. They'd barely eaten all day, and after so many hours of snowboarding, they were ravenous. So, they didn't speak much as they ate; at least, not at first. After they had gone through multiple portions of meat and salad, though, Kitsune finally found a few moments when she and Keitaro both didn't have their mouths full.

"So, how do you like it?" she asked. "I had heard about this resort from a friend, a long time ago… but I never really had the chance to come out here until now."

"It's great," Keitaro said. "Especially at this time of the year… it's practically empty. Come to think of it, how come you just invited me, and not Naru, or Motoko, or anyone else?"

That question seemed to be asked sincerely, so Kitsune answered.

"Um, well, Naru's pretty busy this weekend," she said, in a bid for time. "She's got some projects for school to do or something… and Motoko's not really into this kind of stuff at all, you know how she is. Shinobu's afraid of skiing and snowboarding, and this kind of weather would make Kaolla an icicle."

"Oh," Keitaro said rather abruptly. He seemed to think about Kitsune's half-witted excuses for a few seconds, but they must have made sense to him because he simply shrugged. "That's too bad. I'm sure we could have had a lot more fun with more people."

"But… we're having fun right now, aren't we, Kei?" Kitsune asked.

When Keitaro looked at her, she wasn't looking at him with the normal pleasant, friendly interest she generally did. There was something more than that in the way Kitsune looked at him… something that asked for his approval, or perhaps validation in some way. And something about the warmth in her face made his breath catch in his throat for a moment, because that was the most intensely he'd ever been looked at in his life.

"Of course we are," Keitaro answered a moment later. He smiled, but it was nothing compared to the way Kitsune smiled at him.

"I don't really make time to vacation too often, but I might have to in the future, after the YI and Tokyo U exams. This is… really, a lot of fun," Keitaro said.

"I'm glad you think so," Kitsune replied. "I'm really happy to get to take a few days off with you."

She paused, or perhaps hesitated for the briefest second before adding on those final two words. And their addition was significant, because they made Keitaro feel himself blush before he turned away and spent a few seconds sipping at some water.

For a moment, Keitaro thought about himself and Kitsune. He realized that he didn't really understand what was going on between them, and what Kitsune wanted. For that matter, he wasn't sure what he wanted, either. In the past few years, he'd never had a girlfriend for a number of reasons—a lack of interest, a lack of time, a lack of girls in his circle of friends, and the taboo that existed in Pakistan as far as Muslim girls dating non-Muslim guys went. In fact, in many sectors of Pakistani society, there was a taboo against dating itself, one that even showed up in the upper or upper-middle class social circle he and his parents participated in.

It didn't look like there were any taboos that might prevent him and Kitsune from dating, though. Her own parents were… well, Keitaro didn't know anything about Kitsune's parents, but they were out of the picture, as far as he could tell. His own parents certainly wouldn't have a problem with him dating, and that meant that… really, was there a reason he shouldn't pursue a relationship with Kitsune?

She was older than him, but not by much, and Keitaro was mature for his age. Sure, she'd made some mistakes in her life, but she was on the straight and narrow now. Her career seemed to be getting better, and she'd always managed to live within her means. Keitaro had known her for a few months now, and so he knew that while there were differences between them, they got along very well indeed.

Apart from that, if Keitaro was honest with himself, Kitsune was _incredibly_ attractive. In many ways, it was a wonder that she didn't have a boyfriend (or two) already, because there had been times in the past that Keitaro could barely look at Kitsune. She looked good in anything, and when she dressed to impress, Keitaro was glad that he was only half-Japanese. If he'd been full-blooded, she'd have caused his nose to bleed more times than he cared to remember.

Kitsune was dating material, there was no doubt about that. But as far as Keitaro himself… was he really prepared for such a thing? Having a girlfriend—just a girl to go and have fun with from time to time—was different from what would exist between himself and Kitsune. Theirs would be an adult relationship, because they _were_ adults. Kitsune was completely financially independent, and Keitaro would be a college student soon. The prize money from the YI—if he placed in it—would be enough to sustain him for months, and once he got into Tokyo U, he could look into ways to really make money off of Hinata Inn.

He knew that he was mature enough to deal with all that. He didn't know if he was mature enough to deal with all of that while maintaining a serious relationship with… anyone, really. Keitaro barely even had close friends, so was he really prepared to be in a serious relationship?

For that matter, did Kitsune even want to be in a relationship with him?

Yes, Keitaro realized, she did. At last he began to understand why she was so kind and polite to him all the time. It was also why she always stopped by to chat with him, or to bring him tea, or why she always greeted him when he got back from biking or cram school. It was also why she'd asked him and him alone to come to the skiing resort. She _liked_ him, Keitaro realized, and she liked him as far more than a friend.

Keitaro's cheeks had a faint pink tinge to them when he finally made eye contact with Kitsune again. He spent a few moments attempting to choose his words carefully, before he gave up.

"Kitsune, I…"

He paused, swallowing, and sat up a bit straighter. He looked Kitsune in the eyes again and forced himself to relax, accepting his fear and then simply banishing it from his awareness.

"I like you," he said. "I really, really do. You're a really sweet girl, and you're… polite, and smart, and you've got a good future ahead of you. We haven't really known each other for long, but… well, I'd like to get to know you a lot better in the future."

He paused again to take a sip of water while Kitsune simply waited to hear what he had to say next. By this point, she was blushing, but Keitaro wasn't. Now that he'd started to speak, there was nothing to be nervous about, as far as he was concerned.

"But the thing is, I have… a lot on my mind right now. I have to focus on the YI and getting into Tokyo U, so… if anything serious were to happen in my personal life, I…" He simply shook his head.

"I know this seems really greedy, and it probably is really greedy, but… I'd like to start a relationship with you, later. After the YI, and after Tokyo U—and I will get into Tokyo U, I swear to God—_then_ I'd like to start a relationship with you," Keitaro said. "I hope you understand, I really do, and I'm sorry to be like this to you. And if… well, if you can't accept the situation, I understand. I'm promising to try to start a relationship with you after everything is finished, but you don't have any obligations to me. If you want to try to date someone else, or… whatever, that's fine with me. Just… know that if you're single after the YI and everything, and you're still the same person I've come to like… I'll be there for you."

Kitsune didn't answer for a moment, and Keitaro thought he knew why. She was confused, because she didn't know how to feel. On the one hand, he had made it clear that he liked her, and fully intended to date her, but on the other hand, he'd put her into a really uncomfortable position. He'd asked her to wait for him based on the promise that he'd ask her out in the future, and they weren't even in a relationship yet!

It was true that these were some of the thoughts going through Kitsune's mind, but there was something else that she was thinking about that he could not have guessed.

She was thinking of her plan—her old, original plan to make Keitaro fall so desperately in love with her that he'd be her cash cow—permanently—no matter what she did. That plan made it clear what she had to do next, and that was to force Keitaro to give her an answer then and there. It wouldn't be hard for her to get him to give her the answer she wanted, either—she'd just have to lean forward, allowing her shirt to fall open a little bit, and get close enough to Keitaro that he could smell her perfume. She'd look deep into his eyes and speak with the slightest quaver in her voice.

"I'm sorry, Kei, I…" she'd say, "I really can't accept that. I have to know if you're committed to me or not… and if you're not, that's okay, but I just… I can't deal with that. I won't be able to bear staying at Hinata Inn…"

If she did that, Keitaro _would_ make a commitment to her; he'd have no choice in the matter. From there, it wouldn't be long before she had him committed to her in the eyes of the law, and that would be that.

But things had changed in the past few months. Kitsune wouldn't have guessed that it could have happened in a thousand years, but she _was actually falling for Keitaro_. Not only that, she was finding, more and more, that she liked the person she had become in order to seduce Keitaro more than she liked her old self. She liked being able to look herself in the mirror, and she liked not watching her time and money go to ever-more potent and expensive forms of alcohol. She liked swimming, she liked being taken seriously by her peers and her colleagues, and she liked the way her career was going.

She liked who she was and who she was becoming, and she realized that she couldn't stand the person she had been. She could never let herself become so pathetic again, and to put the final nail in the coffin of the old Kitsune—the old boozing, slutty, pathetic, bum without a future Kitsune—she had no choice about what she had to do next.

Kitsune smiled and spoke with only the slightest waver in her voice.

"It took me a couple months to fall for you, Keitaro," she said. "I can wait a few more weeks for you to become an even more amazing person than you already area… a Todaisei, a property owner… and the winner of the Yokohama Invitational."

He blinked when she said that. The _winner_ of the Yokohama Invitational? Keitaro only hoped to place in that race; if he did, he'd be the youngest person to place in it by far. But if he _won_ it?...

Kitsune laughed pleasantly at the expression on his face. "Don't look so surprised," she said. "You can do it, I _know_ you can, especially if you're not doing it for yourself. If you're doing it for yourself, and me, then… you might really win the Yokohama Invitational, Keitaro. If you try to win it for us."

"Alright," Keitaro said almost numbly, a moment later. "I'll try to win the YI… for us."

"Do or do not do, Keitaro. There is no try," Kitsune said serenely.

That broke the serious moment, and each Keitaro and Kitsune laughed softly for a few moments. They looked at each other again, slightly blushing, and Keitaro was about to start to eat again when Kitsune placed a hand on his wrist.

How soft her fingers were. How dainty and positively feminine they were. How much they contrasted with Keitaro's own fingers, especially when he placed them on top of hers.

He looked at Kitsune again, and when he did, she was leaning forward… much, much more than she had been before.

"You made a promise, Keitaro," she said softly.

"Seal it."

For a split second, Keitaro hesitated. He then remembered that the relationship he wanted to start with Kitsune was an adult relationship, and that part of an adult relationship was, well, doing adult things. And that didn't make him nervous at all, because if it was with Kitsune then… he wanted to do adult things. He welcomed doing adult things.

With that in mind, he reached forward with his free hand and used it to caress her head, and her soft, silky hair, ever so gently.

And then, for the first time in his life, Keitaro Urashima kissed.

* * *

(Hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was certainly fun for me to write. I intend to start working on the next chapter in the next few days, but I have a few different ideas about the direction this fanfiction should go in, so I'll need your feedback. Please review, fave, and follow as necessary, and I'll see you next chapter.)


	13. Chapter 13

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Thirteen

* * *

"I must say, in all my years of teaching cram school, I have never had so many students perform so well. You should all be very proud of yourself—even the worst performer in this class has done well enough to have a chance at entering Tokyo University."

Professor Nawaz was practically beaming as he handed the students' tests back to them. At this point, he knew all of them by face and name, so he didn't need to call out their names in order to give them their grades.

Keitaro was surprised—pleased, certainly, but surprised—by this news. He hadn't thought he'd done well on the test, but according to Professor Nawaz, even if he was the absolute worst performer in the class… then he had a chance at entering Tokyo University.

That was without studying or otherwise preparing for the test. If he did study and prepare for the test… and if he considered that the practice exams that Professor Nawaz formulated were somewhat more difficult than Tokyo University's entry exams…

He tried not to think along those lines too much. If he did, he'd surely become overconfident and cocky, and forget that there was a lot of learning and a _lot_ of studying to be done.

So, he simply folded his hands neatly on top of his desk and watched as Professor Nawaz approached him… only to hand a test to the student sitting behind him before moving away again. He continued to traverse the narrow but clear aisles of seats in the lecture hall—now even more perfectly silent than usual, given what was going on—and again, he approached Keitaro.

And again, he handed a test to another student and went away again.

Keitaro sighed and try to calm his nerves, but he wasn't successful. Even his tried and true tactic of keeping a good sense of humor and not taking anything too seriously wasn't working, because this was a very, _very_ serious thing. His performance on a rigorous test like this would be a good indication of how good (or bad) his chances of getting into Tokyo University really were, and if he did well, it could give him incredible peace of mind for the coming weeks. If he knew that his odds of getting into Tokyo University were good, he could not only approach his studies with hope and enthusiasm, he could call his parents and he could really believe it when they told him they were proud of him.

Professor Nawaz approached Keitaro again. And this time, he did not hand a test to another student.

"Phenomenal work, Mr. Urashima," the older man said. He'd leaned over somewhat to speak softly enough that just Keitaro—and maybe the several people sitting around him—could hear it.

"You were the highest scorer in the class, and not just by a little bit. I haven't checked for certain yet, but I wouldn't be surprised if you've set a regional, or even a national record this year. Congratulations."

"_Sh-shukria_, Professor," Keitaro managed to say. He opened his mouth to say something else, but nothing came to mind, so he simply smiled, kept quiet, and accepted the group of papers from Professor Nawaz's hands.

The next person the Professor handed a test to was Naru, but Keitaro didn't notice that. He was too busy looking at the report that had been generated from his test to see how he had done, and if the Professor had been exaggerating.

But he wasn't. Keitaro really had done phenomenally well. He hadn't gotten a perfect score, of course—no one ever had for the practice exams that Professor Nawaz used—but he'd gotten painfully close in several sections. Math and science in particular were Keitaro's strong suits, but even his weakest performances—in kanji and western history—were significantly greater performances than the average test taker, and good enough that the test report gave him a 95% chance of being accepted into Tokyo University.

That was the highest chance rating it gave anyone, because there was always a 5% chance that such excellent scorers were cheating.

Keitaro felt dazed. He hadn't thought he'd done this well on the test—he hadn't thought he'd done _well_ on the test. He hadn't studied for it or prepared for it in any way, but Professor Nawaz had said that he was the highest scorer in the class and that meant that—

Wait.

_The_ highest scorer in class? Not the _second_ highest scorer in class?

If Keitaro was the highest scorer in class, then…

Slowly, Keitaro turned to face Naru. She was still looking at her test report with an expression on her face so neutral that it was unreadable. After a moment, however, she folded up the printed slip of paper and slowly turned to face Keitaro. She stared at him for a moment with such intensity that Keitaro felt like an insect pinned to a set of microscope slides for the convenience of the examiner, but then, remarkably, Naru _smiled_.

"This is the best I've ever done on a Tokyo U practice exam," Naru said. "If you beat me, the on-off national champ, so badly, then… it looks like I should learn from you, Kei-kun. Congratulations."

"_Shukria_, Naru," Keitaro said automatically. "I mean, _arigato_."

A few seconds later, Keitaro realized that he and Naru were still staring at one another. He knew why he was staring at her—she wasn't acting like her usual cold, vaguely unpleasant self—but he had no idea why she was staring at him in such a manner, with such sincerity. There was never anything sincere about the way Naru acted around him, and there never had been from the beginning. She'd studied with him with such a false friendliness that it made Keitaro sick, and then, she'd tried to seduce him—he still didn't know why—so angrily and bitterly that even if Keitaro had been a less impulsive man, he'd have been put off by the anger positively radiating off of her.

Now, though, she wasn't angry. She actually seemed to be sincere in her congratulations, because she was truly impressed by Keitaro's performance on the test, even though he'd beaten her. That was incredible humble and mature of her, and frankly, Keitaro didn't trust it one little bit. Maybe she was getting acting lessons or maybe she was just getting better from so much practice, but Keitaro couldn't bring himself to trust anything Naru said or did at this stage. She simply couldn't be trusted period, as far as he was concerned…

But then, there was that time when she'd immediately and selflessly jumped to his aid when the nationalist protestors had almost set upon him. That, Keitaro had to admit, didn't square with the rest of her apparent personality…

But then, there was the brick through the window. And the water heater explosion. Each of those incidents squared with Naru's apparent personality 100%.

Slowly, Keitaro turned to face away from Naru, though he was careful to do so in a manner that didn't make it clear what he felt toward her. He simply began to look at his test results again, occasionally glancing at Naru out of the corner of his eye to monitor her reaction to what was going on.

And, sure enough, it was just a few moments before the positive expressions on her face shifted, changing to shock and anger. The shock was from Keitaro's performance, and the anger was that he'd not swallowed her act as thoroughly as she'd wanted him to.

Something was still up with her, it seemed, and Keitaro still didn't know what her endgame was. He didn't even know if she was really trying to be friendly toward him, but some old, unknown anger was stopping her from being sincere, or if… was it possible that she _still_ wasn't okay with him being in Hinata Inn? Could it be that she wanted to somehow get him to do something that would justify having the rest of the tenants throw him out?

If she was waiting for that to happen, Keitaro thought grimly, she'd be waiting for a very, _very_ long time. He was in the Hinata Inn situation for the long haul, and once he got into Tokyo U, he'd be the official, unrestricted owner of the property and there would be nothing Naru could do to change that. In fact, at that point, he could look into getting _her_ out of the inn, out of _his_ inn, and nothing would make him more satisfied than seeing Naru clutch at her luggage as she turned her back to slowly, sadly, walk out of his life forever.

* * *

Despite his achievement earlier that day, Keitaro found it difficult to get to sleep that night. It was strange—he was usually able to sleep within a few minutes of lying down, and Hinata Springs was an incredibly peaceful, quiet town, especially in the evening. The shouts, general clamor, and traffic that Keitaro had grown used to sleeping through after living in Islamabad for years were conspicuously missing, and the near-absolute silence that replaced them out to have put him out in record time.

He tossed and turned, though, for an hour. Then he got up, stretched, had some water, went to the bathroom, and went back to sleep, only to toss and turn for another hour.

Was he too warm? Was he too cold? Keitaro didn't know, so he experimented by first sleeping with the sheets folded down to his waist, and then with the sheets pulled up over his head. Neither strategy worked, so after a few more sleepless moments, he simply sat up in his bed and sighed.

He knew why he couldn't sleep; it was because he was anxious. Not about Tokyo U exams, or even the YI for once—he was anxious about Naru. If what he believed about her was true, then… he, and the rest of Hinata Inn's residents were simply not safe with her in the building. She'd already resorted to very, _very_ extreme means to achieve her goals, and if she tried anything else, well… it was entirely possible that someone could get seriously hurt, or worse.

Now, Keitaro _really_ couldn't sleep.

He threw the bedsheets off of his legs and stood up, pacing around his room for a few moments as if to make him tired. It didn't work, of course, owing to his level of physical fitness, but that didn't stop him. He looked around his room for inspiration for… anything. Maybe the ornate but compact dresser in the corner of the room would somehow make him sleepy, or maybe watching himself walk in the mirror would give him an idea of how to get Naru out of Hinata Inn. Maybe hearing his feet softly impact the clean, hard wood floor would eventually relax him, or maybe glancing at the protective gear in the corner of the room would… would…

That was it. That was how he would both relax and tire himself out at the same time. He would go biking.

Not hard, of course, and certainly vigorously enough that he'd have to have a midnight shower to clean himself off, and thereby wake up half of Hinata Inn. He'd just… take a slow, relaxing ride around Hinata Inn property, and think about things. He'd think about Naru, of course, but he'd also think about himself and the ramifications of his recent performance on the test. He'd also think about Kitsune, and how things were developing from her, and maybe, at some point, he'd find his mind relaxed and idle enough that he could finally get some sleep.

Before Keitaro realized it, he had changed his pajamas for a pair of cargo pants and an athletic shirt. He moved to put on his protective gear, but decided against it. If he fully prepared to bike hard, the temptation to bike hard would be too great to resist. It was best to just stick to a helmet; that way he could be protected from regular accidents and injuries but not be so protected that he would taunt himself into getting some midnight practice in.

As silently as he could, Keitaro made his way out of his room and down the stairs to Hinata Inn's main floor. Briefly, he glanced at the door leading to Kitsune's room, and considered that if they were in an adult relationship in which they did adult things, then he might be entitled to entering, waking her, and…

He flushed and tried not to dwell on such… distracting thoughts. He could deal with them later, after the Toyko U entry exams and the YI, but until that point, his left hand would have to be his best friend.

* * *

The chilled, midnight air struck Keitaro's arms and neck, and after he flipped up his helmet's visor, it struck his face, too.

For the umpteenth time, Keitaro realized just how incredibly clean Japan was. Being that his father was Japanese by heritage and nurture, he'd always grown up in a very clean household, but the fact was that he was only half-Japanese by heritage and more than half-Pakistani by nurture. Adjusting to the levels of hygiene and cleanliness that were the norm in Japan had taken some time, but even now, after spending months in the land of his forefathers—or, at least half of his forefathers—Keitaro found himself occasionally marveling at just how clean Japan was.

There was no smog in the air, and no dirt on the ground. The people themselves were incredibly clean, and that wasn't their only virtue. Japanese people were incredibly polite, Keitaro had observed, and although they weren't quite as friendly as Americans in his experience were, they were more than helpful and kind enough that the few times Keitaro had been lost, he'd been set on the right way after just a few words with perfect strangers.

And, of course, there was the near-complete lack of crime in Japan. The two hate crimes against Hinata Inn aside, Keitaro felt incredibly safe anywhere he was, because people simply did not beat other people up, or rob them, or threaten them. Even now, in the middle of the night and all alone, Keitaro had never felt safer in his life.

That was when he became aware that he wasn't the only biker riding around the property behind Hinata Inn.

Someone else was there, some dozens of yards ahead of him. Unlike Keitaro, he was moving fast, and judging by the way he moved and cut directly down the sloped hillsides, he was a veteran mountain biker, not unlike Keitaro himself.

Keitaro suddenly began to pedal harder to catch up to the other biker. Leaves and trees whipped past him, and it was then that Keitaro realized how dark it was. It may have been a full moon that night, and an incredibly bright full moon at that, but once Keitaro got into thicker parts of the forest, visibility was severely hampered and Keitaro could do nothing but hope that his head didn't contact a too-low branch, or that his tire didn't contact an upturned rock.

Despite his caution, though, Keitaro was a superb biker. So, although the other biker—a rather tall individual, Keitaro observed—had had a few yards on him at first, he was closing in fast. Within seconds, he was close enough to yell.

"Hey! What are you doing here?" Keitaro demanded. "This is private property, and you can't be here so late at night—hey, stop right now, or I'll call the police!"

Those final few words had an effect, because the biker slammed on his brakes and swerved coming to a complete stop within a few yards. Keitaro followed suit and came to a halt as well, a very brief distance from the other biker.

The two of them looked at one another for a few seconds. They dismounted, and it was then that Keitaro realized that the other biker was _very_ tall, even taller than he was. That was incredibly rare in Japan; in fact, Keitaro had only ever met one Japanese person taller than he was…

"Kentaro," Keitaro said. "Sakata Kentaro."

"In the flesh," Kentaro said. He hadn't taken his helmet off; just by flipping up his visor to give Keitaro a glance of his face had been enough for Keitaro to identify him. He grinned, for a moment, watching as Keitaro's expression darkened, and as his hands slowly balled up into fists.

"It's nice to see you after so long, Keitaro-chan," Ken taunted. "How are you doing in Japan, half-breed? And, by the way, how's your idiot father? Still stuck at that pathetic job in Islamabad?"

Ken had intended to anger Keitaro with those comments, and he'd succeeded. Keitaro could be criticized—harshly, even—without batting an eyelid, but being insulted was something entirely different. And having his _father_ insulted was something entirely different again. So, when Keitaro spoke, it was through gritted teeth.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Just thought I'd get in some midnight biking," Ken replied. He flicked a speck of dust off of his pants before looking back at Keitaro and grinning again. "See, some of us have the YI to practice for, so we need to spend every spare minute keeping our skills in top condition."

"On private property?" Keitaro said incredulously. He managed to calm down, somewhat, although his posture was still rather aggressively forward, and his hands were still fisted at his side. "Kentaro, you're trespassing right now, do you realize that? You're on private property where you have no business being, in the middle of the night!"

"You're trespassing too, mutt," Ken replied coldly. "So I guess that makes us even. Now, leave me alone and get out of here, so that I can keep practicing—"

"I don't think so, Ken," Keitaro replied. "See, I'm not trespassing and I won't leave you alone… because _I_ own this property, and I'm telling you to get lost right now."

That surprised Kentaro, Keitaro could see it in his eyes. Keitaro smiled halfway and slowly slid his left hand into his pocket, getting a few fingers around his cell phone in case he really did need to call the police.

"_You_ own this land?" Ken demanded. "Not just the shitty mansion over there?"

"That's right," Keitaro said coldly, "I own this land, and the _amazing_ mansion over there. Do you feel emasculated, Ken-chan? Are my house and land too big for a peasant like you?"

Keitaro had said those words without thinking, in a rather rare display of anger. He'd known Kentaro for some time, and in that time it had become clear to him that Kentaro was materialistic to a fault. Any comments directed at his family's wealth were sure to strike a nerve, and Keitaro's in particular made Ken's eyes narrow into a baleful glare.

"Don't you dare call me a peasant again," Ken said in a dangerously quiet voice. "Ever."

Keitaro resisted the temptation to flinch from his gaze and stood his ground. He could see Kentaro sizing him up, as if scoping out which one of them would prevail in hand-to-hand combat, and while that would have caused Keitaro to retreat while calling the police just a few weeks ago, Motoko had shown him a few judo techniques recently. If Kentaro came at him, he could hold his own.

The idea of beating Ken in a fight made Keitaro turn his chin upwards in a slight show of defiance. When he did that, Kentaro's eyes left his and traveled down the side of his face.

"That's a nice bruise you got there, Keitaro-chan," Ken said. "How'd you get it?"

Without realizing it, Keitaro brought his fingers up to his face and ran them across his jaw. Although just touching that part of his anatomy was no longer enough to cause pain, it certainly felt sensitive even now. He'd almost broken a bone back then, so it was no surprise that his face was still tender…

But was there really a bruise after so long? Keitaro looked at himself in the mirror every morning—well, glanced at himself, more like—and he didn't think that he was bruised. Certainly, if he was to look at himself in the dark, he doubted he'd see anything irregular about his face.

Maybe Kentaro just had really good night vision.

Or, maybe…

Keitaro shook his head and continued to stare at Kentaro. At some point, he had moved forward, so now the distance between the two young men was rather insignificant. They were less than ten feet away, and at that distance, using a phone was not an option, so Keitaro put his back into his pocket and shifted his weight to his rear foot. He brought his hands up somewhat, but refrained from fisting them again.

"I'm giving you one last chance, Ken," Keitaro said. "Get out of here now."

Ken laughed at that and began to move forward. He was just on the verge of reaching out and touching Keitaro somehow when a newcomer arrived and, before either Keitaro or Kentaro could do anything about it, held a katana to Kentaro's throat.

It wasn't the blunt side of the katana, either. It was the sharp side, and this katana's edge had been honed to the point that it could be used to shave.

Kentaro, of course, froze midstep. He didn't dare to move forward, but he didn't dare to move away, either, because the one who had put the blade to his neck moved so inhumanly fast that if he did anything he didn't like, he wouldn't have a chance to defend himself or even get away.

"Urashima-san gave you an opportunity to go away," a surprisingly feminine voice said. Kentaro couldn't see, due to the darkness, but it seemed that the one who was holding the blade to his throat looked up with such a vicious expression on his—or her?—face that he flinched.

"Are you going to take it?" that same voice asked, and to answer, Ken immediately stepped back once, twice, three times.

At that point, he felt safe enough to save face. He stood up straight, laughed awkwardly, and looked at Keitaro again.

"See you in the YI, half-breed," Ken said. "Or, more accurately, I won't see you, but you'll see me, before I leave you in the dust! You see, I'll be so far ahead of you that even if I were to look back I wouldn't be able to see you, but you'll be able to see my back as I leave you behind…"

Ken realized that fear was making him babble, so he shut up and simply snared.

Then, he got on his bike and began to ride away.

Until he was off the property, however, Keitaro kept his phone in his hand and his eyes on Kentaro. When Ken was finally gone, Keitaro shut his eyes, took in a deep breath, and faced Motoko.

"Thanks for the quick save," he said. He hadn't realized it at the moment, but his confrontation with Ken had made his heart beat at about a million miles per hour—more than biking for a whole afternoon could do. So, Keitaro did nothing but try to calm down for a few minutes, and when he was somewhat sure that he'd been successful, he shook his head and faced Motoko again.

"How did you know to come?" he asked. "Were Ken and I being very loud?"

"_Iye_," Motoko replied. She had sheathed her sword some moments ago, but still stood in a powerful stable posture facing the direction where Ken had just disappeared. "I sensed a great disturbance… a danger, or a threat to Hinata Inn. At first, I thought it was just a dream, but when I woke up, it got even stronger. Urashima-san," she turned to face him, "he truly intended to hurt you."

"Please, Motoko, call me Keitaro," Keitaro said vaguely. He managed to smile despite how serious their discussion was. "If you don't, I'll start to call you Aoyama-san again. I know that you only want to be respectful, but please respect the fact that we're not just acquaintances, alright?"

Motoko's expression was stern, but when she saw the sincerity of the smile on Keitaro's face, it softened the slightest amount.

"Alright, Keitaro… san," she said eventually in a sort of compromise. "Tell me… do you and that individual have any sort of… negative history? Is there any reason why he'd wish to harm you?"

"Well, kinda, sorta," Keitaro said awkwardly. He then explained to Motoko how his father worked under Ken's father, and for that reason, he had known Ken from a young age. Ken had always been rude and recently, even abrasive, but he'd never done anything to make Keitaro think that he was violent. He made sure to mention that last part, but Motoko simply shook her head when he said that.

"I sensed a great deal of darkness surrounding that man," Motoko said. "He's a very dangerous, unstable individual… and I'm not sure why, but a lot of that has to do with you."

"With _me_?" Keitaro repeated. "But I barely know the guy! How can so much of who he is have to do with me?"

"I don't know," Motoko admitted, "but I do know that you can't be around him again alone, period. If you are, I don't know what will happen. Keitaro-san, you're still familiar with the techniques I showed you?"

Keitaro nodded, and that made Motoko's shoulders lower the slightest amount.

"Good," she said. "Remember how to fall, how to get into closed guard, and the kimura. If you do that, you may be able to defend yourself until I can come."

Keitaro nodded again. He was still breathing a little hard, but now that Kentaro seemed to be well and truly gone, he felt safe enough to calm down.

"Thanks for being my bodyguard, Motoko," Keitaro said. "I really appreciate it."

"It's the duty of the samurai to defend the weak and defenseless," Motoko said regally, and before Keitaro could flinch too badly, she added, "and the talented and powerful."

She let that sink in, for a moment, before almost smiling at Keitaro and starting to lead him back to Hinata Inn, saying that it was very late and they all had busy days tomorrow. Keitaro followed, stopping only once to ask Motoko if there was still a bruise on his jaw.

She looked at him closely, but even her samurai eyes could not have seen his bruise if she hadn't known exactly what to look for.

* * *

Surprisingly, getting to Tokyo University from Hinata Springs was not as difficult as Keitaro had thought it would be. There were two legs to the journey, but the first was a brief bus ride and the second was a briefer train ride. Better yet, the train that Keitaro had to take to get to Tokyo U came every five or ten minutes, so he didn't really have to plan to catch any particular one of them.

That was good, because if Keitaro got into Tokyo U—no, _when_ Keitaro got into Toyko U—he'd be making the commute from home to school every day of the week, and he didn't want to waste time traveling, not when there were so many more important things to do.

It seemed like it had been a very long time ago when Professor Nawaz had asked to show Keitaro around Tokyo U, but he'd been so busy in the past few days with worry about the mock exam he'd taken, Hinata Inn's continued repairs, and then the snowboarding trip with Kitsune that he'd lost track of time. Fortunately, he'd entered his appointment with the professor into his calendar the same day he'd found out about it, and for that reason Keitaro arrived at Tokyo U a few minutes ahead of schedule.

It was somewhat chilly that day, so Keitaro wore a light jacket over his shirt, which, for once, wasn't a generic graphic tee. That day he wore a button down—he was meeting a Tokyo U professor, after all, and several of his colleagues to boot. In fact, Keitaro thought, maybe he was underdressed. After all, Professor Nawaz _always_ wore suits, even when it was blazing hot out! In weather like this, Keitaro had no excuse to stick to business casual.

It was too late to go back home to change, though, so Keitaro simply sighed and exited the train station. According to the map he'd glanced at to find out how to get to Tokyo U, he was supposed to walk one block before getting to the entry gates—but what the map hadn't shown was that the block between the train station and Tokyo U was a park. Even then, students and other young people were lounging and eating lunch, or playing Frisbee, and beyond them was the entrance to Tokyo University.

The gates were tall, noble, built to intimidate and impress anyone who looked at them. They guarded an immeasurable quantity of knowledge, after all, and although they were dwarfed by the multistory buildings behind them, they managed to make Keitaro almost stop in his tracks when he saw them.

Tokyo U was almost like a castle. Its nobles, professors and their Ph. D candidates, lorded over its peasants, the grad students and, lowest of all, the undergraduates. Everyone Keitaro saw was going somewhere in life, and for a moment… he felt rather insecure, as if he didn't belong in such company.

Then he saw Professor Nawaz sitting on a park bench not far from the train station with one leg crossed over the other, reading a book and wiping his face with a handkerchief as if this was just another day at the office for him. And that made Keitaro realize that, no matter what, the people who studied and taught at Tokyo U were people just like him. When he passed the entrance exam, he'd have earned his place among them, and no one could deny that.

"Hello, Professor," Keitaro said to announce himself when he was close enough.

Professor Nawaz stood and greeted him with a handshake, putting his book away into a briefcase.

"Excellent, I'm glad you were able to make it, Keitaro," he said. "You've brought a notebook, I hope?"

"In my backpack," Keitaro said.

"Good," the Professor said. "I'm going to introduce you to several people, so you'll be getting a lot of names and email addresses. We have a few busy hours ahead of us… anyway, let's get going. This will be your first time inside Tokyo University, won't it, Keitaro?"

"This is my first time even around here," Keitaro admitted. He followed Professor Nawaz through the park towards Tokyo U's entrance, nodding to a few of his future classmates as he passed them by. "I've just… never really made the time to come out here before, with my biking and studying and all that, so…"

"Not a problem," the professor replied. He passed the security guard posted at the university's entrance after waving, once, and Keitaro was admitted through once Nawaz indicated that they were together. "I'll tell you everything you need to know about Tokyo U as we eat."

* * *

The special lobster dish Professor Nawaz had mentioned wasn't being served that day, for some reason, so the Professor and Keitaro each got some ramen and a salad instead. They sat down in a part of the cafeteria reserved for staff and those invited to eat with them only, but even the fixtures in the students' section were luxurious. There were no cheap plastic chairs and wobbly, overused composite tables—no, everything in the cafeteria was ultramodern and made of glass and metal. Other parts of the school, the professor said, had other decorative themes, but the cafeteria was one that was particularly well done.

Keitaro and the professor glanced at one another once before starting to eat. It occurred to Keitaro that Nawaz had taken a liking to him rather quickly, and for no reason that was obvious to him. Sure, he was a good student, but what had made him more than just another face in the crowd?

That seemed like a good question to ask, so Keitaro asked it. And, after thinking for a few minutes, the professor answered.

"It's not just that you're a good student," Nawaz said. "It's because you're determined. More than that, you have guts, and are willing to take risks and do what you think is right. For example, do you remember the time when you spotted my mistake and corrected me in front of the whole class?" he asked. "Daring to stand up to a Professor in public… that broke every social taboo in Japan—and many in our own homeland, too."

Keitaro flinched somewhat as he nodded, but the professor just laughed and shook his head.

"I'm glad that you did that, Keitaro. Even if I hadn't made the mistake that I did, I'd have been glad that you spoke up, because it would mean that you're paying close enough attention and working hard enough to notice discrepancies between your own work and mine."

"I never thought about it like that," Keitaro said. To be honest, he hadn't really thought about anything at all before raising his hand that evening. It had just… seemed like the right thing to do, and that was as simple as it was.

"Anyway, I'm glad that you have become more than a face in the crowd, Keitaro," the professor said. Though he was more than comfortable speaking in Japanese, he switched to Urdu, then, and Keitaro was surprised that it took him a second or so to begin to understand Nawaz again.

"I can tell that you've got a good future ahead of you," he said. "You have everything to go anywhere you want in life… the brains, the guts, the hunger… not to mention your talent in biking. And, not to mention that you're a good-looking kid," the Professor said. "Forgive me if I'm prying, but… do you have a girlfriend right now?"

"Well, not quite," Keitaro said. He flushed, simply because thinking about the situation between himself and Kitsune made him feel somewhat guilty. She deserved real commitment, not promises.

After a moment, Keitaro sighed and shook his head. "There is a special girl in my life, but I don't want to go forward with her right now. After the Yokohama Invitational, and once I'm in Tokyo University… then I'll have more time for my personal life. For now, I have to concentrate."

That felt like a strange, rather abrupt thing to say, but Keitaro couldn't think of any way to explain himself without exposing the inner workings of his love life to Professor Nawaz.

Still, the professor seemed more than satisfied with that explanation, because he nodded as if Keitaro's decision made sense to him.

"If you think that's the best thing for you to do, then you have to follow your judgment. But no matter what you do, Keitaro take my advice and find the right girl sooner rather than later. I was married at the age of twenty, and next summer, my wife and I will be going to South Africa for a month to celebrate our thirty-fifth anniversary. It's true that we weren't in love when we got married, of course—you know how it was in Pakistan when I was a boy—but finding a life partner is a very important experience," Nawaz said. "It's vital to have a stable life at home, someone to talk to about your troubles and dreams… and it's also a growing experience to be faced with the responsibility of being concerned with someone besides yourself."

He fell silent for a moment.

"I'm not telling you to get married at the drop of a hat, far from it," Nawaz continued. "But you really should think about being in a long-term relationship as soon as you find the right person, because this dating business kids these days do is…" he simply shook his head. "Keitaro—this girl in your life, do you think she's the right person for you, or is it just something you want to do for fun?"

Keitaro thought about that question for a moment before answering.

"Kitsune is a lot of fun," he said. "She snowboards, swims, writes, and she makes enough money gambling that she wouldn't have to work if she didn't want to. She's really, really beautiful too—when she walks around outside, every guy nearby turns to look at her, even if they're on a date already. At the same time," Keitaro continued, "she's smart, sweet, and mature. She's just a few years older than me, but she's been through a lot in life already… and she doesn't like that stop her from being who she is. I can definitely see myself with Kitsune for… a very long time."

Professor Nawaz nodded in response to that, but he said nothing. Words didn't need to be said, because the way Keitaro's face changed when he spoke about Kitsune was the way the professor's face changed with he mentioned his wife.

* * *

After walking past the science building, a massive, multi-winged monolith that occupied an entire lobe of campus, Keitaro followed Professor Nawaz to the math and engineering building. It was a rather broad skyscraper with large, reflective windows and a marble lobby. The professor worked on the second floor with his colleagues and a small army of Ph. D candidates and grad students, so they took the stairs rather than one of the several elevators servicing the building.

Once they got up, Keitaro was struck by just how big the building was. It looked big from the outside, but inside it was simply enormous. There were at least twenty offices on the second floor, plus a small cubicle farm for TAs and Ph. D candidates, and once they entered, everyone seemed to smile or wave at Professor Nawaz.

"You'll be taking your math classes on the third and fourth floors of this building, generally," the Professor said. "But if you take upper level math courses, you can just go to class at home. I'll be teaching courses online starting this year… in fact, if you're good with computers, I'd be happy to employ you as an IT assistant. It'll get you some money, and you'll be able to become a regular face around here."

"I would certainly be willing to do that, Professor," Keitaro said. "_Arigato_—I mean, _shukria_."

Nawaz just smiled and led Keitaro down the hall to one office in particular. When they got closer to it, Keitaro knew why.

Dr. David Martinson was a Swede, and this was one of the several things Keitaro had read about him on Tokyo U's website. His interest in mountain biking was mentioned, and he seemed to have participated in a few meets in California in the past few years. What the site hadn't mentioned that Martinson was young, _very_ young for a Professor. In fact, Keitaro guessed that he was wasn't a day over twenty five years old.

At the moment, he seemed to be sifting through a series of homework assignments, checking to make sure that he'd graded them. He didn't seem to be particularly busy, so Professor Nawaz announced his presence.

"Hello, David," he said. "Is that the remedial class homework?"

Martinson turned around in his chair before standing up and nodding at Nawaz. Keitaro observed that he wasn't very tall either, and this made him feel rather odd, since he was a full head taller than each of the two professors.

"Yeah," Martinson affirmed. "And judging by the kind of work they're doing, a lot of them will have to retake the class again when the normal semester starts…"

Martinson seemed to notice Keitaro as he spoke, so Nawaz introduced him.

"David, this is Urashima Keitaro, the cram school student I was telling you about a few weeks. Do you remember? He's also interested in biking, and he's going to compete in a few weeks—"

"—at the Yokohama Invitational, I remember," Martinson said. He immediately began to smile, and reached forward to shake Keitaro's hand.

"It's nice to meet you at last, Urashima. Congratulations on making it into the Yokohama Invitational! That's a huge accomplishment, especially for someone so young. Actually, I think you might be _the_ youngest competitor in the history of the race, right?"

"Yes, sir," Keitaro said somewhat sheepishly. "I, uhm, just really loved mountain biking from a young age."

"Well, good for you," Martinson said. "I only became interested in it when I was in college myself… anyway, I don't know if Professor Nawaz has told you, but I'm looking into making a mountain biking club here at school. Do you have any experience with such things?"

"Not exactly," Keitaro admitted. "Back in Islamabad, mountain biking didn't have a huge following. It was just me and a couple friends who would meet up every few weeks… sometimes, we'd try to organize larger gatherings or races, but it never really worked out."

"Islamabad?" Martinson said, confused. "I'm sorry, I thought… you're Japanese, right?"

Keitaro nodded. "Half-Japanese, half-American," he clarified.

"But you're from Islamabad. In Pakistan."

"Yeah," Keitaro said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He then noticed Martinson's bewilderment, and explained. "My dad works for the Japanese Embassy in Islamabad."

"Oh, I understand," the Professor said. "So… you don't have much experience in the global mountain biking scene? How did the YI officials find out about you?"

"That's because I participated in the scene in the US," Keitaro said. "I spent a lot of time in the US growing up… summers, winters, and a few school semesters here and there. Plus, I have a web presence. So, when I started to compete and win in the US, I guess they just noticed me."

"I'm impressed," Martinson said. "So, as far as moving forward with the Tokyo U Mountain Biking Club—Tokyo U _is_ your first choice, right? Urashima Keitaro, you were the national champion on the mock exam a couple days ago… do you want to go to school anywhere else?"

"No," Keitaro said somewhat curtly, but he couldn't help it. He almost reeled form the news that he really was number one in the nation on the past exam, but Professor Martinson seemed to realize that because he grinned and shook Keitaro's hand to congratulate him.

"With a guy like you on our team, I don't think it'll be hard to convince people to just show up to a few meetings and see if they like the sport. We can organize trips to the mountains, or just bike around town in a group to make it a kind of social thing, if people don't want to be serious about it. I think the main goal starting out should be to get as many people as possible interested in the sport… and if some want to get a little more serious about it, then they can."

"That sounds like a good idea to me," Keitaro agreed. "Does Tokyo U have an email newsletter, or something like that? We could submit a link to my Youtube page so that people could watch the videos and maybe get an idea of what mountain biking is all about."

"And at the same time, you'd get money from Youtube from all the hits," Martinson said, laughing. "Very clever, Urashima… alright, I think we can do something like that starting next school year. For now, you still have to officially get into Tokyo U, right?"

"He'll make it in," Professor Nawaz cut in. "Tokyo U has high standards, but cram school is no joke, and those who perform well in cram school perform well on the entry exams. Unless something really unexpected happens, I expect for you to get into Tokyo U, Keitaro, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Keitaro said in a strange voice. He felt meek, since he was almost literally being ordered to do something, but at the same time, he felt proud. Professor Nawaz not only _wanted_ him to get into Toyko U, he _expected_ for him to get into Tokyo U. That, coming from a man who was generally somewhat stern, was significant.

* * *

Professor Nawaz showed Keitaro the business and law building after finishing up the brief tour of the math building, because Keitaro had done some serious thinking in the past few weeks and had decided that he was interested, at least, in a future in either (or both) of those two fields. Math and science were all well and good, and Keitaro could certainly make a name for himself as an engineer or scientist, but he found the idea of being a venture capitalist much more exciting. Or, as another possibility, he could become some sort of lawyer and eventually fight for justice in the Supreme Court, or even the European Court of Human rights.

Maybe that was a pipe dream. But until very recently, participating in the Yokohama Invitational and going to Tokyo University had been pipe dreams. Keitaro had no intentions of limiting his dreams, no matter how fantastic they were.

Unfortunately, that day was a rather light day for the business and law school, so there just wasn't much to see. Professor Nawaz introduced Keitaro to one of his friends in the law school, but after that, it was starting to get to be time to head back to cram school. So, they went back to the professor's office to pick up some of the things he'd need for school, and then they'd be off.

They were just about to enter Nawaz's office when he got a call from the dean about the future of some particular math program. Professor Nawaz took the call—he had to—and told Keitaro to go up to the fifth floor of the building and talk with a computer science professor named Takahashi. Once he was finished talking to the dean, he'd come up to meet Keitaro, and they'd go to cram school together.

So, Keitaro did as he was told. A brief elevator ride took him to the fifth floor of the math and engineering building, which was rather more modern than Professor Nawaz's floor.

Every other room seemed to be a server room, and everything in sight was incredibly clean, even by Japanese standards. Keitaro saw several Ph. D candidates huddled around a group of monitors to pore over hundreds of lines of code in a meeting room, and decided, then and there, that he'd rather commit suicide than major in computer science or computer engineering.

He made his way down the hallway and eventually found Professor Takahashi's office.

Takahashi was into his forties, it seemed, but when Keitaro approached him and introduced himself, he stood up and greeted Keitaro with the energy and enthusiasm of a man half his age. He had been looking over homework for an introductory course to C++ for freshman, and so he invited Keitaro to sit down and get a brief lesson on basic computer programming.

Keitaro was computer savvy, but he'd never learned anything about programming, and just a few moments in, he had reached for his notebook and was starting to jot down a few quick comments about C++ and what it was used for.

Professor Nawaz's call to the dean was taking some time, though, so a few minutes later, Takahashi showed Keitaro the basics of creating apps for Android platform phones. Some of his research, he said, was in smartphone security, because everyone had a smartphone and everyone expected them to magically remain virus-free without any maintenance.

He'd found that many phones had malware of some sort on them. Even some of his upper-class students had bugged phones, and if their phones were defenseless against digital attack, the phones of the average consumer were up a creek without a paddle.

Keitaro agreed—and, in a flash of intuition, he took out his phone and handed it to the professor, asking him to run some diagnostics on it.

Five minutes later, the prognosis was clear: Keitaro's phone was bugged. The virus on it wasn't designed to open up ads, corrupt the system, or even steal his passwords—each of those activities might have been caught by his anti-virus app. The one thing it did it did in such a crafty and clever way that it couldn't easily be caught, but that didn't change the nature of the virus's activity.

It sent the phone's location to a scrambled email address whenever it was requested to do so.

Keitaro was being tracked.

* * *

About half an hour later, Keitaro and Professor Nawaz were finally on the bus that would take them to cram school. Keitaro was still somewhat shaken by the revelation that someone had actually bugged his phone to monitor his location, but Professor Takahashi had deleted the virus and installed a better, much more powerful anti-viral app on Keitaro's phone instead. Now, Keitaro could trust that the device in his hands would let him look at videos of cats without having his location beamed to… whoever was monitoring that email address.

The idea that someone was effectively stalking him was so loathsome that it made Keitaro shiver in his seat. He didn't know who would do such a thing to him—who had the _motive_ to do such a thing to him? There was no one who was that creepy and obsessed with him, no one at all…

Except…

Was it possible? Could it have been that Naru was responsible…?

Keitaro didn't know, and he didn't know how he could find out. He couldn't exactly _ask_ Naru, and although Professor Takahashi had tried hard to find out who had put the virus on his phone and who was monitoring the email address, he couldn't do either of those things. At best, Keitaro could try to guess the password of the email address where his location was being sent, but since the address itself was a scrambled mixture of alphanumeric characters, the password was almost certainly practically impossible to crack.

Keitaro sighed. He would think about this mess later; for now, he needed to relax in order to prepare his mind for cram school. So, he looked at some of the emails he'd gotten throughout the day—most seemed to be newsletters he could safely ignore, but a few were for deals on biking gear… and Keitaro could use a new set of gloves, or kneepads, or _something_. He could always use new and better protective gear…

It was then that Keitaro noticed he'd gotten an emailed video from Haitani. When he opened it, he saw that it was a recording of a recent vacation Haitani's parents had taken to visit relatives in Hawaii. Haitani had taken the video with his cellphone, and it showed him on the roof of a house not far from a beach, showing off a collection of waterballoons… and a rather large slingshot.

It was precisely what Keitaro guessed it was. He laughed uneasily when Haitani got a bull's-eye on a tourist couple just as they were about to kiss, and closed the video.

That guy was going to get himself into serious trouble with his pranks someday.

* * *

(The next chapter will involve the characters discussing their options and plans for the future, so you'll get a chance to see my take on them and their worldviews. There's also going to also going to be a slight combat scene, but you'll have to read on if you want to find out the details about it.

I might even get into an explanation of why Naru is the way she is in chapter fourteen, but if not, then that scene will be for chapter fifteen.

We're closing in on the end of this fanfiction. Soon, Keitaro, Naru, and all the other Tokyo U hopefuls will be taking their exam, and after that, Kitsune will be competing at her swim meet. Then, Motoko will have a little test of her own, and then, for the grand finale, I'll put up a nice, big chapter about the Yokohama Invitational. In that chapter and the epilogue, everything will be tied together. I already have a number of ideas I want to put into fruition, but I'd love to get your feedback in order to decide which direction to take this story in.

So, remember to review and favorite as necessary. See you next chapter.)


	14. Chapter 14

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Fourteen

* * *

(Sorry for the long delay. Life _does_ have a way of getting in the way of these things, doesn't it? Anyway, enjoy!)

* * *

It was commonly said, often by rather serious people, that modern society was caught up in a sort of cult based on the worship of youth. This idea was far from indefensible, given that most people who became famous models, actors, and pop stars were under twenty five around the time they started to grow popular, but what was also far from indefensible was the idea that worship of youth itself was not that bad of a thing.

It was the youth of a nation, after all, who decided the future of the nation. It was the youth of a nation, more often than not, who introduced new technologies and new ways of developing technologies. It was the youth of a nation who introduced new socio-political ideas into a society, so that the best socio-political ideas would eventually rise to popularity after contending with other, older social mores.

More significantly, though, was the fact that younger people were stronger, healthier, and more physically fit than middle-aged or elderly people. While the latter groups became more and more common in Japan, general standards for physical fitness and beauty would slowly become more lax, but Kitsune was not interested in meeting general standards. The standards she expected herself to meet were far, far more rigorous.

From a young age, she'd realized that she was beautiful, and that she didn't really have to try hard in order to be beautiful. She could go without makeup and get second looks and requests for her phone number from boys in her school, and when she put makeup on, or "carelessly" allowed the top button of her blouse to become undone, or smiled and giggled just a little bit more frequently than usual, she could make any individual of the male gender dance in the palm of her hand.

Now, at the age of twenty, Kitsune had never been more attractive in her life. She had a perfect face, perfect hair, and a perfect body that had reacted phenomenally to the intense training she'd undertaken in the past several months. She was young, she was fit, she was wearing a two-piece bathing suit that showed more of her femininity than many women would have preferred, and if there had been a trace of humor or happiness on her face just then, she could have been on the front cover of any one of the hundreds of magazines that features attractive, young, half-naked women.

But there wasn't any humor on her face. There wasn't any expression on her face, not really, except for perhaps determination, but even that emotion was subdued and hidden. This wasn't by intention or design—rather, Kitsune was simply so focused on what she was about to do that not much of her brainpower was spared to displaying her feelings on her face.

Kitsune stood up halfway, and then, at a seemingly random point in time, leaped forward, stretched her body out, and dived into the water. After briefly diving, she rose up back to the surface and settled into a perfect, rhythmic, but incredibly fast and efficient freestyle. She focused on everything she was doing—breathing, working her arms and legs in precisely the correct manner, even positioning her fingers properly so as to maximize drag when proper and minimize it when not, and the result was that the fifty meter distance between where she'd begun and where she ended was traversed quickly, far quicker than she'd ever done before.

She came out of the water breathing hard and somewhat tired; she'd pushed herself, and doing that at the end of a tough workout may have meant that she'd gone beyond her limits somewhat. But Keitaro was staring at the time he'd recorded on his phone and shaking his head in disbelief; Kitsune could see that from where she was, on the other side of the pool.

"Was it really that bad?" Kitsune asked. "I know I was tired, but it wasn't that bad, was it?" she asked.

"No, no," Keitaro replied. He began to walk toward where Kitsune was sitting on the edge of the pool, and knelt next to her. He tried to speak—failed—and, instead, held out his phone so that she could see the time that he'd recorded.

"Th-_thirty_ seconds?" Kitsune said. "No way—you must have started it a few seconds late, or something—right?"

"No way," Keitaro replied. "I started the clock exactly when I told you to go, maybe even a little bit before that. You swam a lap in thirty seconds, Kitsune."

She stared up at him for a few seconds, still trying to sustain the idea that he was mistaken or tricking her, but when she saw the same, old, sincerity on his face, and the way he extended his hand to her, she knew that he was being honest.

She reached out and took his hand in hers, but rather than hugging him, drew him in for a sudden hug. In another time, she may have pressed herself against him in a rather suggestive manner, but there was nothing of that nature now. For that reason, Keitaro didn't feel too embarrassed to hug her back, just for a moment, before they broke apart.

"Congratulations," Keitaro said. He was close enough to Kitsune that he couldn't see anything but her, and when he looked into her eyes like that, he found himself momentarily lost for words. "A lap in thirty seconds… that's seriously, seriously impressive. Especially after a workout like that—that's almost Olympian level, right?"

"Well, I don't know about that," Kitsune replied, but something about the way she was flushing and turning away from him told Keitaro that she was just being modest. "I mean… I've been training pretty hard, but I don't know if I'm _that_ good. I am feeling pretty confident about the meet, though," she admitted.

"I hope so, after performing like that. What will you be competing in, again?"

"Just freestyle, all short distance," she said. "50 meter, 100 meter, 200 meter, and 400 meter. I was thinking of going for the 800 meter too, but after the four other races, I just wouldn't be up for something like that."

"Well, doing well at even one of those races is enough," Keitaro replied. He winced, suddenly, and then laughed.

"And here I was thinking that I had a shot of winning our bet. I didn't know that you had it in you, Kitsune, but… it looks like you do. I don't want to sound patronizing, but in a way… I'm really proud of you, and the progress you've made."

No woman could avoid blushing from a compliment like that, and Kitsune was no exception. She mumbled a thank you that made Keitaro smile and continue to sit next to her in silence, for a moment.

"So, what are you going to do after the swim meet?" Keitaro asked.

"I'll probably take a break for a week, maybe two… after that, I'm going to start training again, but not just in freestyle. Not just short distance, too. It's taken me a while to just physically condition myself, but now that I'm at this stage… I think I can broaden my horizons a little bit.

"Or, I could focus on my career more," Kitsune replied. "Swimming's a lot of fun, but if I want to take it seriously—if I want to become a professional athlete—I'm not going to be able to write at the same time."

"Why not?" Keitaro asked.

"Well, it's just… swimming professionally means spending hours every day in the pool. Not just one or two hours, but two hours, two or three times a day. That doesn't really leave time for much else."

"Doesn't it?" Keitaro asked. "I mean, say you spend three hours swimming, twice a day… that's six hours. Add in time to shower and travel, that's eight hours. That's another sixteen hours a day, every day, right?"

"Well, yeah," Kitsune replied. "But add in time to cook and eat the kind of diet you need to maintain for that kind of lifestyle…"

"And you still have another twelve hours," Keitaro replied. "That leaves you a couple hours for writing, right? Isn't that… you know, enough, for doing columns and articles every few days?"

"Yeah, I… guess it is," Kitsune said.

"B-but I don't even know if I want to keep up with swimming," Kitsune said. "Not at this level, anyway. There are a lot of other things I like, like poker, or horserace betting, or… well, you never know," she said. "This jiu jitsu stuff Motoko's been showing us… I sort of like it. Maybe I could become like Anthony Bourdain's wife, and instead of spending my rich husband's money all day, I'll train in mixed martial arts all day."

"I'm glad," Keitaro said. "I definitely want to be stable, but I don't think I'll ever be _that_ rich."

He went on to say a few other things, then, but Kitsune had a difficult time paying attention to them. She kept replaying what he'd said in her head, over and over again, and no matter what, she concluded that Keitaro had referred to a future in which the two of them were married naturally, easily, without even thinking about it.

* * *

After pushing herself for the final 50 meter lap, Keitaro had coached Kitsune in a cooldown workout that had left her sore, tired, yet in good spirits and hopeful for the possibility of another great workout the next day. In the past weeks, she'd felt her body change on a fundamental level: she was no longer curvy, not really. Rather, she was slim and toned, and as she got closer and closer to the day of the meet itself, she'd become leaner still.

Perhaps at some point, she'd become like Keitaro. She glanced at him as the two of them walked, side by side, and was lucky enough that the wind kicked up, just then. This caused his loose shirt to cling to his body enough that she could see that due to his continuous training and conditioning in preparation for the YI, not only did he have a six pack, he had an eight pack.

Perhaps she'd prefer to not ever be that cut.

"So tell me, Kei… once all this stuff with the YI and the entrance exams are over, what are you going to do? You'll have a couple weeks off before school starts, so, one way or the other, you'll have some time off… how are you planning to spend it?" Kitsune asked.

"To be honest," Keitaro replied, "I haven't thought about that at all. I guess I'll relax for a couple days… maybe upload some biking videos to Youtube, and catch up on movies and stuff… eat a few cheater meals and all that. I guess I'll have to go home for a while, so I'll have to look into that at some point. It'll be weird to not be really busy, because being really busy has been my life for these past few months. In a way… I think I'll miss studying and stressing over the exams for hours every day. There probably isn't too much out there that's as stimulating."

"You might be right," Kitsune said, "but I wouldn't worry about life getting boring. In my experience, life only gets boring if you _let_ it get boring. For example, say that Tokyo U coursework and stuff only keeps you busy for a couple hours out of the day… okay, you can join a bunch of clubs, and if that isn't enough, there are part time jobs, research opportunities; you could take up a new hobby, you could try to start your own business, or you could just "relax" by being the resident manager of a mansion full of unruly young girls."

Keitaro laughed in appreciation of Kitsune's comments. She definitely had a point, so he thought about it for a moment before responding.

"I guess I'll have to find excitement in life as I go along, just like everyone else. Thanks for the advice, Kitsune," Keitaro said.

By this point, the two teenagers were just starting to make their way up the stairs to Hinata Inn. And despite how exhausted they each were from their physical training, when the sounds of a physical confrontation of some sort reached their ears, they both climbed the stairs three or four at a time.

* * *

Motoko rarely wore anything but a gi, and, generally, it was a perfectly reasonable choice of clothing. Her gis were tough, easily maintained, and simultaneously modest and flattering enough that she could be both a samurai and a professional-looking individual at the same time.

The problem was, however, that her gis were so tough that they could be a liability in a grappling match. Whereas normal clothing would rip and tear if it was sufficiently abused, a gi jacket would not, and that opened her up to chokes, holds, and sweeps that would be far more difficult to pull off if she wasn't wearing it.

And, given that her opponent was at least as strong as she was, every disadvantage was a serious problem for her.

Motoko had started off with her opponent in a tight closed guard position that had given her the advantage, initially. Unfortunately, it hadn't lasted for long when her opponent had postured up and then stood up, before jumping up and down just enough to force Motoko to open her guard. After that, it had been a simple matter for Motoko to be stacked, more and more, until she was in a non-dominant and rather tight side control position.

Naturally, Motoko had tried to stop herself from being mounted, and she'd rejected her opponent's first two, then three, then four attempts to get both knees around her torso. The fifth time, however, her opponent had been successful, and Motoko had had to hurriedly trap her own elbows between her opponent's knees to avoid going from the frying pan into the fire.

Still, this was a bad position for her, so although Motoko was only fighting with 70% of her strength and skill, she had to keep her defenses up to avoid losing. She shrimped away from her opponent twice, enough to create space, and then simply countered the various attacks that came her way. She negated a _sode guruma jime_ by tucking her chin in, and then she negated a _nami juji jime_ by hooking her hands into her opponent's elbows and firmly pulling down. Then, she saw her opponent going for a _juji gatame_ and negated that, too, by ensuring that her elbow was too close to her own body for a reasonable fulcrum to be created, and then she saw that her opponent was getting frustrated, nervous, desperate, and sloppy.

Sure, it was uncomfortable for Motoko to be mounted for so long by someone around her weight, but it wasn't nearly enough to make her concede defeat, not even in her mind. She simply lay there and waited, constantly shrimping, constantly defending, constantly ignoring openings for sweeps or counters, and constantly working to put herself in a better position.

And then her opponent went for one of the easiest and most effective armlocks from mount. Motoko knew it as the _ude garami_, but most martial artists these days referred to it by its English name: the Americana.

Motoko had tight shoulders, and she wasn't strong enough to prevent her opponent from using the weight of her body to press her arm to the ground. She was seconds from defeat when she reached over her arm, and her opponents, and, in a last-ditch defense, took hold of her own wrist and pulled.

This caused her opponent's wrist to bend, bend, bend—and then, just when Motoko was about to accept defeat, she hear Haruka swear in pain and then tap her torso rapidly.

Motoko carefully released her grip and felt Haruka do the same and release her from the mount position. Motoko sat up and found that she was breathing surprisingly rapidly, though this was nothing compared to how worn Haruka was. The older woman was panting slightly and staring at Motoko with a mixture of frustration and awe on her face.

"I thought I had you," Haruka said. "I felt you holding back until I went for that Americana—how did you do that?" she asked. "_What_ did you do?"

"A wrist-lock," Motoko said. She tried to keep her demeanor serene and calm, but she couldn't help but grin as she sat up. "You did almost have me, Haruka-san, but the nature of jiu jitsu is that there are countermeasures to everything. In any case, although I submitted you, you did very well. Congratulations," she said.

Haruka just shook her head, and lit up a cigarette. She'd just taken a drag of it when Keitaro and Kitsune came into view from having dashed up the stairs and toward the small expanse of empty space directly adjacent to Hinata Inn, on the opposite side of where the hot springs were.

They seemed to have heard the sounds of a struggle and assumed the worst, instead of realizing that Motoko and Haruka had simply been rolling—aggressively, sure, but in a friendly and safe manner regardless. Once they realized this, they calmed down immediately and approached at a more normal pace as Motoko and Haruka stood.

"Who won?" Keitaro asked.

"Who do you think?" Haruka answered, though in a somewhat more pleasant tone than the curt, somewhat standoffish voice that she generally employed. "I thought I had Motoko, but she did something unexpected… and I couldn't defend myself from it. More importantly, Keitaro, you and Naru got a few letters in the mail today, from Tokyo U. I'm not sure, but I think they're details about the official test and application process. You should take care of them soon."

"Definitely, thanks, Haruka-s—Haruka," he replied. "The last thing I want is to be rejected from Tokyo U because of some technicality."

"That's right, the test is in about two weeks, isn't it? Keitaro… how are your studies going?" Motoko asked.

"Pretty well," Keitaro said vaguely. It was clear that he was being evasive, so Motoko just stared at him until he continued. "Err… I actually placed number one in the nation for the last mock exam, so I should do pretty well on the real thing."

"_Number one_ in the _nation_? The _whole_ nation?" Kitsune exclaimed. "Hey—congratulations! Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"It didn't seem like a big deal, at the time," Keitaro replied. "I mean… okay, it did seem like kind of a big deal, but I didn't want anyone to _make_ a big deal out of it. I still have to do the actual exam… I don't want to, you know, get cocky."

"There's a difference between cocky and confident, Keitaro," Motoko replied. "And there's nothing wrong with being proud of your achievements, especially something like this. Number one in the nation for a Tokyo U mock exam, eh? You'll probably start to receive offers from other schools very soon. In fact, you'll probably be able to get Tokyo U to give you a full-ride scholarship, or maybe even a stipend, if you really push them on it."

"I'm not sure about a stipend as an undergraduate, but Motoko's right about a scholarship," Haruka replied. "Keitaro, once you get the results of the real exam back, be sure to take them, and your report on the mock exam, to the financial assistance office. I bet you'll be able to get them to give you a huge discount… even more, if you're able to get that professor friend of yours to write you a letter of recommendation."

"I'll definitely ask him about that, once I take the test," Keitaro replied. He couldn't help but flush at all of the attention he was getting, and look away from each of the three women nearby. "Like I said, I don't want to get cocky."

Kitsune sensed that Keitaro was growing embarrassed, so she began to speak.

"Two weeks… say, Motoko, isn't that when you take your black belt test, for jiu jitsu?"

"Roughly, yes," Motoko said. "I think it's a few days after the Tokyo U exam, actually."

"Then maybe we can go with you for support," Kitsune suggested, glancing at Keitaro and Haruka—and then, at Shinobu and Suu, who had emerged from the inn some seconds prior. "As long as it doesn't conflict with the Tokyo U exam, Keitaro can go, and as long as it doesn't conflict with my swim meet, I'll be able to go… what about you guys? There's an administrative holiday in two weeks, right? So, you two can come along—and what about you, Haruka? Can you take a day off from your tea shop?"

Slowly, everyone Kitsune had addressed began to nod, slowly. It was as if they were interested in getting away from Hinata Springs for once, but were hesitant to do so due to how close Motoko's test was to other important things that they were up to.

"Come on," Kitsune urged them. "We have to support Motoko, right? And besides, her dojo is only two or three hours away by train… we can go there and come back in the same day, and still have time for all of the other things that have to get done. It'll be fun, and we all need to get out of Hinata Springs. We've been here without a break for far too long."

Slowly, everyone present began to get more enthusiastic. It wasn't long before they were nodding, at which point Naru came into view. She was making her way to the group from the inn, and one could guess that she'd been studying simply from the way she was dressed and how stressed she seemed. Kitsune was about to address her and let her know of the group's plans to go and support Motoko at her dojo, when it became clear just how angry Naru was.

"If you don't mind," she said poisonously, "some of us are trying to study. It's hard to do that when people are fighting loudly, or talking about wasting time on dumb trips to martial arts schools. Don't you all have better things to do?" she asked. "Haruka, your tea shop isn't going to run itself, and aren't your finances in a bad position right now? And you, Shinobu and Suu—you have finals coming up soon, you shouldn't be spending a moment out in the sun when there's studying to be done!"

"Come on, now, Naru," Kitsune said in a jovial tone. More than a hint of her native accent began to creep into her voice as she tried to save Naru from offending everyone present and embarrassing herself more than she already had. "Sure, we all have important things to do, but it's important to take a break once in a while, isn't it? Anyway, we're sorry for making so much noise," she continued when it became clear that Naru wasn't going to accept that as a response. "We'll be quite for the rest of the evening, I promise."

"No," Naru replied. "It's already too late. You guys broke my concentration, so… go ahead and do your martial arts, Motoko. Who cares if it's a hundred years out of its time, right? Who cares if it distracts people who are studying to do actually useful things? It's just part of the game, isn't it? Never mind that you're also distracting middle schoolers from their studies," Naru went on.

By this point, everyone present had gone from being surprised at Naru's unwonted anger to being upset by it. For her part, Naru was clearly not in an ordinary state of mind; she was red-faced and almost panting as she started to pace back and forth in front of her housemates, ranting out loud rather than at anyone in particular.

"The exam is coming, finals are coming, projects are due, and I have more homework than ever, and I have to deal with this bullshit? Come on, cut a girl some slack! I-I can't believe that you'd be so inconsiderate!"

"Naru," Keitaro said as gently as he could, "we're all very sorry for distracting you…"

He should have stopped speaking there, he really should have. A hundred times in the past, his parents had each taught him that anything said prior to a "but" was thoroughly negated by whatever came after it.

But he couldn't stop himself. Before he'd realized it, Keitaro had already started to speak, and once spoken, words could never be unspoken.

"But the thing is that we weren't being very loud. We really weren't, and besides, your problems… are your problems. I mean, that's just how it is," he said. "Everyone's got struggles in their lives, but that's no excuse to be… such a bitch."

Keitaro wasn't accustomed to using bad language and those present weren't accustomed to hearing him using it. But no one gasped, because just from the way he looked at Naru, and spoke to her, it was clear that he wasn't trying to insult her, not really. He was chastising her, in a way, like an elder might do to a petulant child.

And for reasons that only Kitsune understood, that made Naru _mad_.

"Listen, _gaijan_, just because you got first on _one_ mock exam, doesn't mean you're all that," she said, striding up toward Keitaro until she was close enough to him that he could see every vein in her eyes.

"You might have done well on one stupid little test, but that doesn't mean anything. All that matters is what happens on the real exam, isn't it?" she demanded.

"That's right," Keitaro said. He found himself meeting Naru's eyes without flinching, and that wasn't like him. But for some reason, he found himself unable to back down, unable to meekly tolerate what she was doing anymore. So, he looked into her eyes and he didn't look away—he didn't even blink.

"And that's why when I get into Tokyo University, and when I get full ownership of this inn… the first thing that I'm going to do is to kick you out. I don't care what the laws are like in Japan, I'll find a way to get you out. I swear to God, I'll do it."

Naru laughed mockingly in response.

"_When_ you get into Tokyo U. You arrogant bastard, what makes you think you're worthy of it? And what makes you think you'll be able to kick me out of Hinata Inn, when I haven't done anything —_anything_ wrong?"

"No? Nothing wrong? Not a thing?" Keitaro asked, staring at Naru in a strange mixture of anger and humor. She didn't think that she could fool him, did she—it didn't matter that there was only the slightest evidence indicating that she'd been responsible for what had happened to Hinata Inn, and what had _nearly_ happened to its residents, _Keitaro knew that she had done it._

But even in his angered state, he had to admit that he couldn't prove it. And if he couldn't prove that Naru was a bad tenant, then Japanese laws might mean that she would be allowed to stay in Hinata Inn, regardless of what he wanted. He couldn't bear that.

"Alright, if you're so sure about that, let's have a little bet," Keitaro said. "If you're right and I can't get into Tokyo U, you can stay at Hinata Inn, but if you're wrong, and I do get into Tokyo U, you'll leave."

"Keitaro—" Kitsune tried to interrupt what was going on, but both Keitaro and Naru ignored her.

"You know what… let's up the ante," Naru replied. "If _I_ don't get into Tokyo U but you do, I'll leave Hinata Inn right away—the same day we get the letters—but if I do get into Tokyo U, and you don't, _you'll_ be the one to leave Hinata Inn—and all of Japan, actually."

Keitaro's face was stern and cold in a manner that had rarely been seen in the past. Even Haruka, who was generally stern-faced, found herself almost frightened of the dark expression her nephew wore.

"And if we both get into Tokyo U? Or we both don't get in?"

"If you both get into Tokyo U, you'll have to learn to live with each other somehow, I don't care if we have to call a professional counselor," Kitsune interrupted. "And if you both don't get in, then… we won't worry about that happening, because it's not going to happen. Each of you are really smart, wonderful, forward-thinking teenagers, and I know that you might… not really understand each other, but you both have to know that each of you isn't a bad person, no matter what disagreements you have. You have to know that, right?"

Keitaro realized that his hands were clenched into fists at his sides when, at Kitsune's words, they slowly began to loosen. He realized what he'd said, and that everyone present was staring at him and Naru, and that made him flush somewhat and look away. He was about to say something—perhaps it was even an apology—when Naru spoke first.

"Shut up, slut," Naru snarled. "What would you know about being smart, or a good person, or even being able to think ahead of your next bottle of booze?"

That seemed to have crossed the line, because when Naru said that, Kitsune's face took on an incredibly ugly look. She began to make her way to the brunette, to say something harsh, or perhaps to _do_ something harsh, when Haruka and Motoko both positioned themselves in front of Kitsune and began to talk her down. They were succeeding—barely—but it was Keitaro who prevented things from escalating further.

He turned to Naru and spoke in an almost disembodied voice, without a shred of what he was feeling—if he was feeling anything at all—showing on his face.

"I think," he said slowly, "that you should go back to the inn, Naru. Just… please, go there until we can figure all of this out, alright?"

Naru didn't respond at first. She just stared at Keitaro and then turned away with a shriek of frustration and outrage, and then, she began to stalk away toward the inn.

Keitaro didn't take his eyes off of her until he watched her walk through the door. Then, he turned back to see if Kitsune was alright, and she was, at least to a degree. She wasn't angry anymore, but the sadness on her face was so severe that it made Keitaro stare, for a few seconds.

Kitsune tried to wave him ff, as well as Haruka and Motoko away by saying that she was alright, but Keitaro ignored her and held her close to him until he was sure that she really was alright.

* * *

The cheater meal had not been planned, but given what had just happened, it had been entirely necessary. Keitaro, Kitsune, Haruka, and the rest of the Hinata Inn group went on a walk after the events outside of the inn to clear their heads, which turned into a lengthy stroll around town, after which they made their way into a nearby sushi bar, sat down, and began to finally recover from the hasty words that had just been hurled.

Shinobu had timidly suggested inviting Naru. Keitaro hadn't been too keen on that idea, nor had Kitsune, but Haruka had agreed that it was good to at least extend the offer and had sent Naru a text message letting her know where they were and what they were doing.

There had been no response, and Naru hadn't shown up, and so Keitaro had let out a mental sigh of relief.

But he knew, in the back of his mind, that he'd have to confront her when they returned to Hinata Inn, and so the walk back home wasn't a very easy thing for him to do. He tried to think about what he'd say to her—should he apologize? Should he demand that _she_ apologize? What if she tried to slap him, or something? What then?

All of these questions turned out to be academic in nature, though, and that was because when Keitaro and the rest of them returned to Hinata Inn, Narusegawa Naru had packed a bag and left.

* * *

Keitaro had no fun in the days that followed. He only used the internet a handful of times to talk to his parents and to make sure that no one had to tell him anything serious, and he didn't go anywhere but cram school, Hinata Inn, and the expanse of space behind it.

When he ate, it was simply: brown rice, vegetables that were steamed or baked in the smallest amount of fat possible, and lean fish.

And protein shakes, of course. Keitaro had plenty of protein shakes, even though he hated them. He hated the fake, cloying flavor, he hated the texture, and he hated the way they tended to ruin perfectly good bottles after just a few uses.

He didn't watch TV, of course, nor did he engage in any other sort of leisurely activities. He studied, he did his chores, and he biked as much as he possibly could.

Keitaro ignored the paths he'd already been on a hundred times before, instead, he forced new ones. He rode up slopes, through creeks, off of slabs of rock, and did a dozen other maneuvers that he'd scarcely attempted in the past. Then, when he'd maxed out his technical skills for the day, he'd drive out, past Hinata Inn, through Hinata Springs, and get onto the highway.

There, he'd keep up with cars for miles and miles and miles until he turned and did the same thing on the way home.

And then he did pushups and pullups and core workouts until he was exhausted.

Then he showered, ate, and studied some more.

The only times Keitaro broke his routine were when he had chores to do. Fortunately, things were very quiet around the inn, those days, and since he'd had Haitani help him set up a website the girls could use to pay rent directly, he didn't even have to worry about that. If he'd been a less sociable person, Keitaro could have gone the week and a half that followed Naru's departure from the inn without saying more than a few words to anyone.

Perhaps he wasted time by talking to people, but Keitaro didn't much care about that. He was a biker, so he needed to bike, and he was (hopefully) a future _Todaisei_, so he needed to study… but he was also a person, so he needed to talk to people. He talked to Professor Nawaz after class and sometimes during the brief breaks they took, and he also talked to a few of the other students who'd come to look at him as a sort of role model. On his way home, he stopped to talk to Haruka, and once he got home, he made it a point to spend at least ten minutes with Kitsune, alone in her room.

Sometimes, they talked. Sometimes they just sat next to each other and held hands, and that was enough.

After that, Keitaro talked to whoever else happened to be out and about at the time. He'd say hello to Shinobu and ask her about how her studies were going, and then he'd let Suu kick him in the head (although it was rather gently, these days), and then he'd spend a few moments rolling with Motoko so that he could practice jiu jitsu, and so that she could impress and slightly frighten him once again with all of the dozens and dozens of way she could use to choke people out, or dislocate their shoulders, or hyperextend their elbows, or on, and on, and on, and on. Sometimes he'd help Shinobu with preparing dinner, sometimes he'd help her out with her homework. Sometimes he'd go and learn about foreign affairs and geopolitics from Suu (the girl was an expert on them for some reason) and sometimes he'd read over the articles Kitsune was working on and the leads she was pursuing for longer-term stories.

So, in that manner, although Keitaro didn't do anything that was truly exciting or fun in the traditional sense of the words, he was reasonably happy. There was a strange pleasure in dedicating himself so utterly to just a few things; given that nothing else bothered him, he wasn't very stressed and it was almost like the rest of the world had simply ceased to exist. In many ways, it was one of the most peaceful times in Keitaro's life.

And, just a few days before he and the Hinata Inn group were due to go with Motoko to her black belt test, Keitaro realized why.

"Narusegawa still isn't here," he said one evening, as he and Kitsune cleared up the dishes after the evening meal. Shinobu and Suu had already returned to their rooms to prepare some sort of project that was due the next day, and Motoko was on the roof with a sparring partner, practicing her arts yet again, so they were alone.

"Have you heard anything from her? Is she coming back, or… or do we send her stuff to wherever she's staying now?"

"I haven't heard anything from her," Kitsune said. Her expression was difficult to read as she hunched over the sink and began to rinse off the dishes so that they could be loaded into the washer, but when she straightened up and looked at Keitaro, he could see that she was… concerned, at least, about what had happened to her friend.

"I've tried calling her, texting her, emailing her… I've also gotten in touch with some of our friends from the old days, but… it's like she's dropped off the face of the Earth. At this point, I'm pretty sure she doesn't want to be found."

"It looked like she only took her books, some clothes, and that's about it, right? So, she's probably studying somewhere…"

Keitaro's voice trailed off, and for a moment, he was unsure how he felt.

"I'm glad that she's gone… I mean, I'm glad that she's not here, because of what she said, and because… me and her, we just don't get along. At the same time, I feel bad for her and… whatever she's going through right now. I hope she's alright… wherever she is."

"She's alright," Kitsune said with a surprising amount of force in her voice. "It might not seem like it, but Naru's a tough girl. She's alright, and… I guess we'll get in touch with her again when she's ready for it. For now, she's probably just… studying, all day, day in and day out, so that she can get into Tokyo U. It's been her dream, after all, for… honestly, for as long as I've known her."

"Oh yeah?" Keitaro asked. He found himself surprisingly interested, for some reason, so he set down the final stack of dishes in his hands in the sink and looked at Kitsune. "Do you know why?"

"Well, she mentioned a promise she made as a kid a couple times," Kitsune said, and when she said that, Keitaro had to place a hand on a nearby counter to avoid reeling and falling down. He only just collected himself when Kitsune continued to speak.

"But the real reason she wants to get into Tokyo University has a lot more to do with… her father."

* * *

(A cliffhanger! It's too bad that you'll have to wait for a very long time again for the next chapter, isn't it? :P)


	15. Chapter 15

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Fifteen

* * *

She was a young girl in a foreign land, and that alone had made her nervous enough to cling desperately to the two small articles of carry-on luggage she'd taken with her. What made the experience worse wasn't just that English—the only other language she had command of, apart from Japanese—wasn't widely used by the crowds around her, it was the crowds themselves that made the experience so bad.

Although she'd come to consider herself a city girl in the future, Naru had been born and raised in a suburb, or a village, really, among farms, cows, and not much else. She wasn't used to being around more than a few dozen people at the same time, but in the past few hours, she'd been driven to Tokyo, taken through an airport big and crowded enough to make her head spin, and then sent off to Seoul, where she was then.

She'd arrived at the busiest hours of the day for the airport, just in the late afternoon, when it seemed like every airline had multiple flights taking off and multiple flights arriving. It was chaos, pure chaos, and that Naru looked similar enough to the native populace that people tried to address her in Korean, multiple times, didn't help at all. All she could do was look at them and timidly shake her head to indicate that she didn't understand them, and turn her head in shame when they left, chatting to themselves about how stupid she was.

She didn't have any idea of what was going on. A few days ago, her father had sent for her for the first time in her life; before that, he'd been a presence in her life only through letters, phone-calls, emails, or the occasional visit for the holidays. Apart from that, he hadn't particularly existed, as far as Naru was concerned, apart from supplying her mother with a sizeable check the first day of every month.

But now he wanted her to join him in Korea, it seemed, and not just for a few days. Naru would be studying at an international school in Seoul for a full year, and at the same time, her father would teach her how he did what he did, and he did a lot.

In fact, Naru wasn't entirely sure of exactly what it was her father did. She knew that he was a businessman of some sort, but any details beyond that escaped her. She didn't know what he sold or who he sold it to, and she didn't know that, in two weeks, he earned as much money as the average Japanese family did in a year.

But she did know that he wanted her, and that was reason enough for her to drop everything and join him, for a few years, to learn what he did and who he was while she prepared for college. If she did that, then she could become a lot more in life than just a trophy wife who hung around with a husband long enough to guarantee a fat alimony payment when they divorced. That was her mother's path in life—not hers.

And so, minutes later, when Naru found herself looking at that tall, swarthy, stern-faced figure who stood out from the crowd, she smiled. He was her father, after all: the one who would make her become more than just another pretty nobody from rural Japan.

* * *

Naru had come to Seoul just days before her school was scheduled to start, and those days served as a crash course in Korean culture. By day, she learned the language from a tutor, and by night, she and her father would go out for dinner so that she could show him what she'd learned and so that he could show her what kind of cuisine the money he made could buy.

He was… actually quite pleasant to her. Loving, even. In Japan, Naru hadn't been a very material girl; she'd been reasonably happy with the few possessions she had, but now, it seemed that her father couldn't wait to shower her with gifts of clothing, jewelry, electronics, and more. He seemed to _like_ to throw his money around, and whenever Naru voiced concern about how he could possibly afford it, he just laughed and said that even with the money he was spending on her, over half of his wages went straight to the bank.

The Friday night before school started, he had a party in his apartment, a five thousand foot penthouse on the top floor of the most exclusive high-rise in the city. He invited his friends, his business partners, and his business rivals, all so that they could meet his daughter and marvel at the fact that in a week, she'd learned Korean well enough to sustain a conversation, and that she really did take after her father: in charisma, in brainpower, and in the unquenchable hunger for success that defined her every effort.

* * *

For the first two weeks of school, Naru didn't get home until around when her father did, and that was saying something. By the time father and daughter were both home, there wasn't time to do much other than chat, eat, and go straight to sleep.

It was the most occupied Naru had ever been, and the results were that, in those two brief weeks, she'd shot up from being an unknown Japanese girl who could only speak conversational Korea to the star student in every class she was in. Popularity and friendships were soon to follow, especially as people started to realize that she was the daughter of the Japanese mogul who was already changing the way business was done in Seoul.

Soon, Naru's days were occupied not just with studying, but with meeting friends and going out. Sometimes, she stayed after school to stay on the forefront of her studies, but usually, she found herself being dragged off to dinner, or for dancing, or for karaoke, or one day outings that only allowed her to return home in the early hours of the morning.

Her father approved of this. Being the kind of person he was, he knew the value of developing social capital, of creating a network of friends and acquaintances who could give one an edge over the competition. He also knew that being the kind of person he was didn't just involve putting half of his money into the bank and leaving it there, he knew that the purpose of life was to enjoy oneself.

In this fashion, Naru enjoyed herself—utterly and thoroughly—right up until the end of the first semester, when her school examined its students' skills with a degree of mercilessness that was second only to what happened in Japan.

* * *

It was eleven in the evening, just a few days before Christmas, when Naru returned home from a party some blocks away. Despite how little she'd had to travel, she'd taken a cab—it was freezing cold outside, for one thing, and she was drunk enough that she could barely walk in a straight line, for another.

When she stumbled through the door, she saw that her father was reclining on the couch. He was still wearing his suit, which was strange. When he walked through the door, the first thing he did was to take his tie off. Then, he greeted her, and then he disappeared into his room to change into sweatpants and a tee shirt, and then he emerged again.

But he looked like he'd been sitting there for… quite some time, really. He didn't look up when Naru greeted him, so she moved closer to where he was sitting.

And then, when he looked up, he looked up at her with such an expression on his face that she froze midstep.

"Your grades arrived today," he said. "Are you proud of how you've done?"

"Yes," Naru said automatically. "I've been keeping up with classwork and studying… when I have to, so I'm—I'm sure that I've done well. How did I do?"

She couldn't keep the nervous waver out of her voice as she spoke, and as her father stood up and strode toward her, she couldn't help but taking a step back. Then, he pressed the letter he'd been holding into her hands so that she could look at it for herself.

"70th percentile overall," Naru read. "50th in Korean, 80th in science, 80th in math…"

She looked back up at her father.

"I'm… I did well, right? Dad, why are you so angry?"

When she said that, he laughed a curt, sharp, bark of a laugh. Then he slapped her across the face hard enough that it stung.

"70th percentile is your definition of _good_?" he demanded. "The bad grade in Korean I can understand, but what about the rest—_80__th_ in math and science is good for you? You're alright with _two_ out of every _ten_ of your classmates doing better than you in math and science?"

"And they're not just doing a little better than you," he continued. "Look at the graph of grades; it's almost a bell curve. You're better than the average, sure, but you're not even close to sticking out from the crowd, and some of the people who are doing better than you aren't just doing a little better than you, they're wiping the floor with you! In math and science! Is this the kind of performance you're proud of?"

Naru was still reeling from the slap, but she managed to answer, albeit in a soft, saddened murmur of a voice.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'll… do better next semester, I promise. It's just… with everything going on, and my friends… I just didn't have time to study—"

"So _make_ time," Naru's father growled. "Socializing is important, no doubt about that, but it's a distant second to getting a good education. A homeless man in the street can be a great conversation, but what differentiates him from me is that I knew the value of education, and that I don't let anything stop me from greatness. Not friends, not family, not annoying little daughters who can barely pull okay grades in school."

Naru almost cried. She got so incredibly close to crying that it was a wonder that she stopped herself, but she did stop herself. She looked her father in the eye and willed her lips to stop trembling, and for that reason, his face softened after a long, long time.

"Young people make mistakes sometimes," he said. "So, that's what we'll look at this as… just a mistake, that you'll _learn_ from. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Dad," Naru answered—instantly, immediately, and without hesitation.

He nodded, and after a moment, he actually hugged Naru awkwardly, for the first time in years, and for the last time… ever.

* * *

The brief two weeks between the fall and spring semester were busy for Naru. Her father took a few days off of work to give her a condensed tour of Seoul, and then a few other places in Korea, and then it was back to the textbooks. She studied hard, every waking hour of every day, and the result was that by the time school started again, she spoke Korean fluently with only a slight Japanese accent.

She was also back up to speed with math and science, and after she felt that her mastery of both subjects was sufficient, she began to mix English and history into the mix.

And so, for the first month of the spring semester, Naru was again the very best in class, bar none. She aced every test and every homework assignment, and she did extra credit that she didn't need to, and it was all due to her hard work. Her hard, hard work, which meant that she stayed at school for remedial classes and practice every day, and that she spent twelve hours a day on the weekends studying.

And then, as had happened the previous semester, she started to burn out. Friends, parties, and outside interests took more and more of Naru's attention away from school, and this time, it became worse.

Much, _much_ worse.

By the time the middle of the semester had come around, Naru was on the verge of failing several courses. She tried to study harder, she really did, but she just couldn't apply herself, day after day after day, when friends were going out for barbecue, or sushi, or swimming, or, in some cases, out to the clubs for a taste of Seoul's vibrant nightlife. Whenever her father asked where she was going or what she was doing, she was going to the library, or she was going to a friend's house to study, or she was going back to school to take some of the evening courses offered for truly dedicated students.

She got a boyfriend, at some point, the only other Japanese boy in school. He was tall—very tall—and his father was fantastically rich, part of the same upper echelon as Naru's father. On the surface, it was a match made in Heaven; they were two of the most attractive Japanese people their age in Seoul, and both of their fathers were well off. They went to the same school, they had the same friends, and, in public, they held hands and sometimes even kissed where everyone could see them.

But Naru knew the truth: it was a match made in Hell.

He tormented her, he _loved_ tormenting her, because he did it every minute they were alone together. He'd say little things, here and there, just to hurt her, about how much she'd eaten last night, about how her worsening grades made it clear how empty-headed she was, and about how her father really wasn't all that rich compared to his.

There were other things he did, too, that made Naru wary of being alone with him for more than a few seconds, unless there was a clear escape available to her.

He was a distraction in her life, just another distraction on top of the things she already did to keep herself from thinking about just how bad things were getting. Her father didn't say anything, but she could see the questioning in his eyes when she came home from school on time, dressed up and then went out to "study". Her teachers had stopped respecting her as one of their best students, and, in time, Naru's friends weren't high achievers or even decent students. Soon, Naru was hanging around with the party crowd—more than that, she _centered_ that group of friends, because she was the one with the black credit card and the one who could go out almost every day of the week.

* * *

In some ways, the scene was familiar. Naru's father was sitting on his couch at home, still dressed in a suit and half-done tie, hunched over a small group of papers on the table before him. His face was stern, as it commonly was, and when he looked up to see his daughter stumble in through the door, it became sterner still.

She was drunk that night, along with half of the other students in her grade. The semester had just ended, after all, and that night, even the most devout bookworms had let loose a little and enjoyed themselves.

Naru, though, had overdone it.

She was a mess. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were a mess, and there was the unmistakable stain of vomit on her shirt. She'd lost one of her shoes at some point, and although she was barefoot, rather than wearing heels, she barely seemed able to stand up.

Apart from that, she wore the unmistakable signs of the beginning of a black eye.

Her father gestured to the injury.

"What happened?" he asked curtly.

Naru tried to answer. Her voice slurred, though, and she stumbled forward. She would have fallen if her father hadn't caught her and guided her to a chair, which she collapsed into without saying a word.

"Was it your boyfriend?" he asked.

This time, Naru nodded. She tried to meet her father's eyes—she failed—so she turned away and tried to hide the tears welling in her eyes with a hand. Her father said something, then, but she didn't hear it. She was too drunk, but she wasn't too drunk to not notice when he flung the small stack of papers in his hands at her as if they disgusted him.

And they did disgust him, they really, truly did. As disappointed as he'd been by his daughter's performance in the fall semester, her performance in the spring semester had been even worse.

"You're in the 40th percentile this semester, if you're too drunk to read," he sneered. "_40__th_. Do you realize what that means—you're not even as good as _half_ of your classmates. That means, if I were to randomly pick someone from your class, I'd get someone smarter than you more often than not."

He paused, and laughed cruelly.

"And if you'd studied harder this semester, you'd be able to tell me details about a statistics problem like that."

"Dad, it's not my fault," Naru said. She managed to sit up a bit, but it was still too hard to look him in the eye, so she didn't try to. "I'm… it was a tough semester, and my classmates are really smart. I gave it my best shot."

"Oh, bullshit!" her father suddenly bellowed. He stood up and advanced on her as if to strike her; instead, he snatched her report card back and literally flung it out of the closest window.

"Do you think I'm stupid, or that I never read my credit card bills? Last night I checked for the first time this semester—you went out almost every night for the past two months, and I wouldn't have a problem with that if it was just for a few minutes with some real, special friends, but you wasted _hours_ with any idiot who would tolerate your presence in order to get a cut of my money!

"First, I believed your dumb lies about how you were going to study, and then, I thought you'd see what was happening after a few weeks, and then I decided that you knew what you were doing—that you were up to _some_thing—but it looks like I was wrong. I should have talked to you about it weeks ago, but I didn't, because I thought you were going to surprise me, but you haven't. You were as pathetic, wasteful, stupid, lazy, and materialist as it looked like. You're—as bad as your mother," he snarled.

That comment incensed Naru, but she was too drunk to think of a response to it. If her father had stayed where he was for another moment, she might have gotten up and slapped him, but instead, he vanished into her room.

"What are you doing?" Naru called.

"Packing your bags," he replied. "I had originally planned for my daughter to stay in Seoul for highschool and then go back to Japan for Tokyo U, but that won't work out, so I'm cutting my losses while I can. She's already spent a small fortune on drinks, food, and frivolous toys, so I guess you can say I've learned my lesson the hard way. From now until she's eighteen, she'll have to survive on what I send to her mother."

"Dad," Naru began—then she paused, groaning, as a wave of nausea came over her. She was only able to continue a moment later.

"Don't do this," she pleaded. "I've learned my lesson, I'll do better next year, but please, _please_ don't send me back to Mom. I can't stand her—every minute I spend around her, I feel myself becoming more and more like her, and I don't want to be just another woman who survives off of alimony from an ex-husband—"

"Well, I can't help you with that, Naru, because you're already that woman," he said. He came into view, dragging several of Naru's messily-packed bags behind him.

"You have brains," he continued. "Like me, you have brains. Not a whole lot, but maybe enough to set you apart from the crowd. I thought you had drive like me, too, which is what really sets me apart from the crowd, but I was wrong. I tried to teach you how to become all that you can by example, but you were too interested in wasting money to pay attention. I tried to teach you how to make people respect you by respecting yourself and forcing them to acknowledge your achievements, and not accepting disrespect from anyone, but look at what your boyfriend did to you. Would he have done that if you'd respected yourself? If you'd respected yourself, would you be with a guy like that? And what was your reaction to it—did you just collapse, cry, and stagger home? Narusegawa Naru, if you paid attention to what I've been trying to show you, you would have called the police on the spot, or stood up, taken your shoe off, and plunged the heel into his chest!

"But you didn't," he continued. "By failing to respect yourself, you allowed him to disrespect you, and you failed to respect yourself because you haven't done anything that would allow you to respect yourself. I gave you the opportunity to do something respectable, but not only did you not seize it, you ignored it at the first opportunity to have fun and waste money."

For a moment, Naru's father seemed to become so angry that he couldn't say a word—but then he swallowed his emotions and spoke in a more measured tone.

"Have fun with your life, Narusegawa Naru," he said. "Stay attractive and marry well, because that's the only way a person like you will be able to support herself and her lifestyle. I'd suggest hanging out at bars near Tokyo U and trying to pass for a student there so that you can find some pathetic nerd and get your claws into him soon, but you'd never convince anyone that you're a Tokyo U student. Never, ever, not in a thousand years.

"Goodbye, Naruswegawa Naru. Have fun with your life."

Those were the last words Naru heard from her father, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop herself from thinking about them in the hours that came. The flight home—which happened the very next morning itself—was a blur for her, and not just because of her hangover. As quickly as her future prospects had improved when her father had showed an interest in her, all that potential, all that opportunity had been taken away.

She arrived home and for the next week, she scarcely left her room.

After that, though, she woke up at six o'clock in the morning, ate breakfast, and went to the nearest bookstore that she could find. She returned home with a box of textbooks so big that she could barely carry it, and again, she spent a week cooped up in her room. She didn't see anyone and barely talked to anyone, because she was too busy studying.

A long-forgotten promise made when she was a child motivated her subconsciously. But the spite and outrage she felt toward her father motivated her even more, and for the rest of her youth, Narusegawa Naru would never be able to stand men in general, and in particular, men like him: men who were smart, motivated, and successful on the surface, but in reality, were the coldest, cruelest men to ever live.

* * *

(Work has already begun on the next chapter. Look forward to it soon, but until then, feel free to review, fave, and subscribe as necessary. The support really helps.)


	16. Chapter 16

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Sixteen

* * *

(I hope you enjoyed the last two chapters. Now that Naru's personality has been explained, there's not much left before we reach the culminations of this fanfiction…)

* * *

"Well, that explains… a lot of things about Naru, actually," Keitaro said. "Her father, a rich businessman? I'd never have guessed."

"It is hard to imagine," Kitsune agreed, "but it's true, at least as far as I know. That's what Naru told me, so… that's what I think happened to her, not that long ago."

Keitaro searched for another dish to clean or put away, but it seemed that there were none left. So, he simply sighed and dried his hands on a nearby towel.

"Learning about all this makes it hard to think of Naru as such an—err, unpleasant person," Keitaro said. "I'm… in a way, I feel pretty bad for her."

"Yeah. So do I," Kitsune said. "I mean, we're friends."

"After what she said?" Keitaro asked.

"_We're friends_," Kitsune affirmed. "Sometimes, when they're angry, or sad, or confused, or scared, people say… things that they normally wouldn't, but that's just human nature. Naru and I are friends, and no hasty words are going to change that."

Keitaro wasn't sure that he agreed with what Kitsune was saying, but then he thought about his own two buddies, Haitani and Shirai. Neither of them were perfect people, and Keitaro knew for sure that he wasn't, so perhaps Kitsune had a point.

In any case, he could appreciate her loyalty.

It briefly struck Keitaro how much Kitsune had changed from when he'd first arrived at Hinata Inn. Ever since she'd gotten back into swimming, she had become more toned and muscular, and she'd grown out her hair somewhat, too. Apart from that, she went to bed at a reasonable hour, and when she went out, she didn't have to wear perfume to mask the scent of alcohol clinging heavily to her body.

And then, of course, there was the fact that after the Tokyo U entry exam, Kitsune's swim meet, and the Yokohama Invitational … his relationship with Kitsune would change dramatically.

What would things be like then, Keitaro wondered. He'd never been in a relationship of that nature before, but she had—hadn't she?

Keitaro realized that while he felt entirely comfortable around Kitsune and felt that he could talk about anything with her, he still didn't know much about her—or, more accurately, who she had been in the past. He knew that she'd made mistakes, but what had gone so wrong with her relationship with her parents that she'd barely mentioned them once around Keitaro? And what about her uncle—why had he willed his estate to her?

When he looked at Kitsune and how she was now, it was almost impossible to imagine that there was anything really terrible in her past that she'd hide from him. But there was a nagging, lingering doubt in the back of Keitaro's mind that suddenly made him question the fair-haired woman who was very close to being, but not quite, his girlfriend.

He was staring at her. She'd caught him, and while she'd been smiling at first, now she seemed concerned about the way he was looking at her.

"What is it?" Kitsune asked.

"Nothing," Keitaro said automatically, before he shuffled around where he stood, somewhat, and spoke again.

"I was just thinking… that…"

How could he word this? He didn't want to upset or offend Kitsune, but he had to know more about her—he really, truly did, before he entered a serious relationship with her.

"It's just sort of strange to think about how close we've gotten in such little time," Keitaro said. "It seems like it's been a lot longer sometimes, but I've only been in Japan for a couple months now. It feels like I've known you—you and the rest of the girls—for a lifetime, but when you get right down to it… I've only been with you for a very short period of time. In a way, we're almost… strangers, I guess."

It was an evasive statement, and a convoluted one, and Kitsune had been out of practice at listening to what people said in order to understand what they really meant for so long that it took her a moment to reply to him.

"You have a point," she said. She smiled at Keitaro—he was surprised—and ran a hand through her hair. "We've known each other for so little time that we don't know each other that well. I'd like to show you more about me, Keitaro… a lot more… but now isn't the time."

Keitaro flushed at that. Kitsune realized that the way she'd been standing, and the soft, low-pitched tone she'd employed to speak to him had been rather euphemistic in nature, so she stood up straight and tried to speak in a more normal tone.

"Let's wait until everything's over to do that," Kitsune said. "After my swim meet, the Tokyo U entry exams, the YI, everything… when all that's over, we'll talk. About everything. I know what you're worried about, Keitaro, so… I'll be an open book to you, for better or for worse. Is that fair?"

Keitaro smiled.

"And here I was thinking that you'd be upset. I'd offer to be an open book for you, Kitsune, but it looks like I already am. It's times like this that make me remember why I started to like you in the first place."

They hugged, then, and perhaps they'd have kissed if they each hadn't turned away from the other at the last moment, wondering if when the chips were down, the relationship that they intended to share would even be possible.

* * *

"So, even though the general idea is complicated, and the process is complicated too, if you go through it rigorously, and take the limit of the function of a plus h, subtract the function of a, and then divide that by h… there are a lot of rules to make things easier. There's the power rule, like I showed you, but there are rules for trigonometric functions, exponentials… does that make sense, Shinobu?"

"Yes, thank you, _sempai_," she replied. "I'm glad that there are shortcuts like this, otherwise it would take me days to get through this assignment."

"Well, don't tell anyone the secret," Keitaro said. He rubbed his eyes somewhat, and grinned at Shinobu. "If people knew how easy calculus was, they wouldn't respect us as much for being able to do it. Say—why are you even studying this stuff, Shinobu? It's got to be a couple of years above your level, right?"

"Um, yes," Shinobu admitted. "But I want to get into a top university, and you can never start preparing for that too early, can you?"

"I guess not," Keitaro replied.

He didn't look too convinced, so Shinobu hastily added that she wasn't preparing for university, not really, she was just looking into the kind of stuff she'd otherwise struggle with as she got into high school.

She and Keitaro were in her room, looking over a few textbooks that she'd bought some days ago. Although Keitaro's schedule these days didn't give him much time, for Shinobu, he was willing to make time. She was a good student, after all, and for being so young, she was surprisingly competent with math that had left Keitaro scratching his head not so very long ago.

"So, um… is this kind of stuff hard for you, _sempai_?" Shinobu asked.

"No, not at all," Keitaro responded. "I mean, this is just entry-level calculus. I've drilled this stuff so hard that it's part of my bones now."

"Oh, well," Shinobu said, trying to laugh, "that's not good—for me, I mean. If you're able to this stuff so easily, and I need help just to understand it, I guess that means that I should feel pretty bad, right?"

She tried to laugh again, but Keitaro stopped her.

"Shinobu, you're just a junior high student right now. This stuff shouldn't even make sense to you, but you're doing it—you needed a little nudge in the right direction, sure, but you're doing it. That's a big accomplishment. I mean, at your age, I was… still struggling with trigonometry and geometry, I think."

"Really?" Shinobu asked. It was hard to imagine Keitaro struggling at anything, but simple math like that?

"It's true," Keitaro said. "I just… wasn't a very serious student in those days. I did well in school, I guess, but it hasn't been until pretty recently that I really started to push myself, and look at where I am now." He grinned. "So, imagine where you'll be when it's time to think about university, Shinobu. You'll make my top in the nation ranking look pathetic in comparison."

"P-please don't say that, _sempai_," Shinobu said. "I'll be happy if I can even complete the mock exam, when it comes time for me to take it. Even though I'm starting to prepare right now… compared to you, I'm just… a pretty bad student. I'm not even sure that it's worth trying to get into a good school, because no matter how hard I work, I'm just not cut out for it."

"That's not true at all," Keitaro replied, rather surprised at what he was hearing. "You're a _very_ good student already, Shinbou, so who knows where you'll be in a couple months, once you start to get more used to studying hard? And when it comes time for you to study to get into school, you'll be so far ahead of your peers that you'll mop the floor with them without even trying."

Shinobu looked skeptical, so Keitaro continued.

"Not to mention that you're about a hundred times as mature as I was when I was your age. When I was fourteen, I was… obsessed with biking, and videogames. That was about it—I'd come home, do my homework, bike, and then just sit at my TV with my PS2 until it was time for dinner. Then I'd eat, and go back to the PS2 until it was time to sleep. That was my life for… a longer time than I'd like to admit. But that's not your life, Shinobu," he said. "Look at you—you're living on your own and taking care of yourself at the age of _fourteen_. That's really something. In fact, it's sometimes pretty hard to remember that you are fourteen. Sometimes, I'm not sure if I should talk to you like you're a kid or an adult, because you seem like an adult, but you're still only fourteen years old. It's incredible," he said. "To be so mature and grown up at your age… it's incredible."

Shinobu was flushing by now, and looking away from Keitaro. She mumbled something, then, but Keitaro didn't hear what it was.

"Don't ever doubt yourself," he said. "You're already on the road to succeed in whatever you put your mind to, and believe me, Shinobu, I'll be behind you the whole way. To ride your coattails," he said.

_That_ made Shinobu look up.

"It's true," Keitaro affirmed. "I'm pretty sure that you're going places, Shinobu, so I look forward to being not just your _sempai_, in the future, but your friend."

For a wild moment, Shinobu almost wanted to ask him if he _only_ wanted to be her friend. After all, if things with Kitsune didn't work out, and if she really did do all that he seemed to believe that she would, then maybe…

But no. She knew it when she looked into his eyes that there was no way that the two of them would ever be more than friends.

And, after a moment, Shinobu decided that she was alright with that.

Keitaro was holding his hand out to her, she realized, so she reached forward and shook it firmly. Then, as he left her, she turned back to her books, smiling to herself about what she had already done, and, more importantly, what she was going to do.

She was only fourteen. She had her whole life ahead of her, and as long as she stayed true to who she was, she'd enjoy every moment of it.

* * *

Years ago—what felt like a lifetime ago, actually—Keitaro's days had consisted of getting up, eating, going to school, coming home, spending some time on his homework, biking for some time, and then coming back home to sit at his PS2 until it was time to go to sleep, interrupted only to eat dinner.

Now, Keitaro's days were similarly monotonous.

He'd get up, eat like he had something to prove, and then go biking. When he was sufficiently exhausted from that, he'd shower, and then study until it was well into the afternoon. Then, he'd eat again.

At that point, if there was cram school that day, he'd attend that. If there wasn't, he'd bike some more.

After either of these two activities, he'd return home, study, eat dinner with his tenants, and then study until he was too tired to continue, or numbers, words, and concepts jostled around his mind too much for him to absorb them any further.

The result was that he was in the best shape he'd ever been in, physically and academically. After one of his enormous meals, he still had veins visible on his arms and legs, and deep, visible divisions between the muscles in his torso and limbs. He could do multiple digit division and multiplication in his mind, too, and he could rattle off any number of the hundreds or thousands of facts serious contenders for Tokyo U were expected to know.

These days, he could even read the most advanced and obscure forms of the written Japanese language fluently, rather than in the slow, halting manner he'd once been relegated to.

By pushing himself harder than he ever had before, Keitaro was reaching new heights in his strives towards Tokyo University and placing in—or, did he dare to hope it, _winning_—the Yokohama Invitational. Everyone at Hinata Inn was behind him, too, and that was really what allowed him to dedicate almost all of his waking life to his own goals. For the most part, they kept the inn cleaned and maintained, and when something came up that had to be dealt with, Haruka would step up and tell her younger cousin to get back to his books.

He was grateful to each and every one of them.

* * *

Keitaro woke up one morning and was about to go to his usual routine, when he realized something. He'd been in Japan for some months, now, and he'd been studying and biking as hard as he ever had in his life. And now… the distant, pie-in-the-sky limit that had been the Tokyo U entry exam was _tomorrow_.

And the next day was Kitsune's swim meet. And the next day after that was Motoko's jiu jitsu black belt test. And the next day after that was the YI.

Everything was happening all at once, and for a moment, Keitaro was so intimidated that he felt like just going back to sleep and willing all of his pressures away. He didn't, though—instead, he focused on what he would do to prepare for the coming days.

Today, he would… study, and he would bike, but not particularly hard. He would relax, somewhat, and get to sleep early so that he would be calm and well-rested for the test. The last thing he wanted was to stress himself out unnecessarily, because, no matter how much he told himself to avoid being overconfident, he knew that he was prepared for the exam. The night before, after all, Professor Nawaz had concluded cram school by saying that he expected every single student in his class to get into Tokyo U.

He admitted that he always said that, but this time, he said that there really was a chance that every single student he was teaching might get into Tokyo U. And since Keitaro was at the head of the pack…

He smiled to himself. He'd worked very hard, and tomorrow, he'd hopefully see all of his hard work pay off.

* * *

The next morning, Keitaro woke up early, as usual, but this time, not only was Shinobu awake, but Kitsune was, and Suu was, and Motoko was too. And, some moments later, Haruka made her way to the inn from her tea shop to eat breakfast with the group.

To all appearances, Keitaro was normal. He was wearing the same somewhat baggy cargo pants that he usually did, and the same sort of dark, graphic shirt that he usually did. He had done his hair the way he usually did, spiking up the front with a teaspoon of gel, and when he spoke, it was in the friendly, pleasant tone that he usually did.

But there were signs, here and there, that he was nervous. He ate a normally-sized breakfast, for one thing, and after he was finished, he simply sat around. For the first time in weeks, he had nothing that he had to do and nothing that he wanted to, so he was actually… bored, in a way.

"So," Haruka said gently, "when does your exam start?"

"In about two hours," Keitaro said. "I'm going to take the earliest bus in case there's a problem, but that doesn't come for another forty-five minutes, so…"

He sighed.

"And… how long does the exam last, Urash—Keitaro?" Motoko asked.

"Until two o'clock," he said. "There's a break for lunch, otherwise it might be have been earlier…"

"_Ano_, do you want me to pack you something to eat, _sempai_?"

"Thanks, Shinobu, but I'm going to eat with my classmates," Keitaro said. "We've been through a lot together, so no matter what happens, I'd like to have at least some happy memories of our times together."

There was silence for a few moments. Outside, there was the soft, ambient noise of a suburban town slowly coming to life, but that was all. The Sun was already starting to shine pleasantly, and a cool breeze passed through the open windows built into the walls of the dining room.

It was so peaceful and relaxing that Keitaro stood up and began to pace around. Was the universe taunting him? Would he fail a test he was certain he had prepared adequately for on a perfect, sunny day? Perhaps he hadn't prepared adequately for the exam after all. He still had twenty or so minutes; perhaps those would make a difference if he went back upstairs and crammed, just one last time—

"As the top scorer on the mock exam in Japan," Kitsune said, interrupting his thoughts, "what are your chances of getting in, Keitaro?"

"I don't know," Keitaro replied without thinking about it. "I think they're pretty high, but I'm not sure."

"Isn't it almost 100%?" Kitsune asked. "After all, Tokyo U has to let at least _one_ person in for the fall semester, and if you're the one who does the best on the entry exam…"

"Th-that's not the only thing that matters," Keitaro stuttered. "They also take into account extracurricular activities, letters of recommendation, and then there's an interview process you have to go through if you're not a really high scorer. And besides, anything can happen on a test day, so—"

"So that's why I said _almost_ 100%, and not just 100%," Kitsune said. "You'll do great, Keitaro, don't worry. And even if you don't, you can prove your responsibility and talent in a minute, and I'm sure Professor Nawaz would write a great letter on your behalf if you asked him to."

"Well… that's true," Keitaro said. He stopped pacing and willed his shoulders to relax. "It's just… butterflies in my stomach, you know?"

"Butterflies?" Suu asked. "Are they good to eat?"

"It's just… I've been looking forward to getting into Tokyo U for years, and now, everything I've worked so hard for is all coming down to this. I guess I know that I should do pretty well, but what happens if I get nervous, or if I skip a question and don't realize it?"

"You have to be careful," Motoko said. "Do your best, work quickly and efficiently, and double-check yourself whenever you can. You know how to take tests well, Keitaro," she said. "Just do what you usually do, and it'll all be alright."

"But still, anything can happen," Keitaro muttered.

"We'll walk you to the bus stop," Haruka said. "After that, it's true that anything can still happen, but be honest with yourself, Keitaro. Is anything _likely_ to happen?"

"Well… no," Keitaro admitted.

For another moment, there was silence. Then, Keitaro began to smile broadly.

"Thanks, guys. I really appreciate that you're all here with me now… I don't know what I would have done otherwise."

He continued to smile, at least for another moment. His face darkened the slightest amount and then he seemed to take his phone out and tap out a brief message to someone.

Then, he looked back up and continued to smile.

"Well… if you're all going to take me to the bus stop, we should leave now. We'll get there early, but anything can happen, right?" he joked.

Moments later, he and the rest of the group were out the door. No one was carrying much: Motoko had brought her sword, but she carried that everywhere, and all Keitaro had in his backpack were a few pencils, extra lead, two erasers, water, his wallet, and a few chocolates.

As they made their way to the bus stop, Kitsune noticed Keitaro emailing his parents to thank them for wishing him good luck, and that he was already heading out. This made her wonder who he had messaged before, but there was no way for her to figure it out without violating Keitaro's privacy in some sense, and she didn't do those kinds of things. Not anymore, anyway.

They crossed the street, and for a moment, Motoko seemed to glance at a passing motorcyclist, but nothing came of it and soon, the group had arrived at the bus stop. There they waited, talking to one another and Keitaro, about the busy few days to come and the days that would come after them.

And then, the bus arrived, not a minute too early or too late. This never ceased to amaze Keitaro, who was used to Pakistani standard time (which meant that buses arrived when they would, or not at all), so he made his way toward the Tokyo U building used for examinations in good spirits.

Why not, after all? Anything _could_ happen, but it seemed that for once, nothing was going to happen.

* * *

"Well, this is it," Professor Nawaz said. "You've all been studying hard for this test, and here it is. As I said, I expect each and every one of you to get into the university due to your test performance; is that understood?"

"Yes, Professor," the assembled students replied in unison.

"Excellent. Now, let's get going."

He'd met his cram school students across the street from the gates to Tokyo as part of a pre-examination ritual that he'd been participating in for the past few years. He wasn't sure why he did it—perhaps by seeing their professor one last time before the exam and hearing his expectations for them, the students would do better. It was hard to say.

Regardless, he led the group of fifty or so young people across the street. They were blocking traffic, officially, but there were so few cars on the road at that hour that it didn't matter. Those that were there simply tolerated the procession of future Tokyo U students… and ronins.

But Professor Nawaz didn't think that there would be many ronins this time around. As he'd told them, he expected every one of his students to achieve good enough marks on the coming exam to be admitted into Toyko U, and even if some of them disappointed him, he had no doubts that their grades would allow them to get into other prestigious universities.

He would tolerate nothing less than excellence from the students in the vanguard of the procession, however. Keitaro was walking just behind him, along with several other consistently high achievers (though the brown-haired girl who had used to sit next to him in class was conspicuously missing). Keitaro and the other students around him would have to ace the test in order to impress him.

Professor Nawaz wiped his forehead and face with a handkerchief he got from a pocket in his suit and happened to glance at a figure, some two blocks away, get onto a motorcycle. Though he took no notice of this individual, Keitaro did, because he—no, _she_—was wearing a black riding suit and a full-face helmet. She was getting onto a Yamaha bike, and when she did, she used a gloved hand to brush a few strands of her long, brown hair over her shoulder.

She then revved the engine of her bike and kicked it into gear.

* * *

Professor Nawaz only just heard the roar of the engine before something struck him—

From behind.

He almost fell over, but he stumbled and realized that, for some reason, Keitaro had rushed up behind him and shoved him forward. He himself had fallen in the process and Professor Nawaz was going to demand what had just happened when he saw some of his students shouting at the back of a rapidly-departing biker.

"I say," Nawaz said. "Did that biker nearly hit us? What—didn't he see that traffic was stopped?"

"Must not have noticed," Keitaro grunted. He began to pick himself up off the ground before several of his classmates helped him, asking him if he was alright.

He was alright, though. He might have fallen, but the biker hadn't struck him at all, so after dusting himself off, he was alright. A little jittery, but alright.

No… he wasn't just jittery. Professor Nawaz looked at him closely as Keitaro stared after the retreating biker, and saw that Keitaro wasn't just scared, he was angry. He was positively seething at the back of the biker, and he seemed to be muttering something under his breath before he realized that he was being watched.

Then, he smiled somewhat sheepishly and grinned.

"It must have been a rival student," he said. "I knew that competition for Tokyo U entry is intense, but this is a little much, isn't it?"

The joke made some of the other students laugh, but Professor Nawaz found himself continuing to look at Keitaro. He could tell that he had something to hide, but whatever it was, he wasn't talking about it. So, after a moment, the professor shrugged.

"Well, _chalo_, everybody," he said. "Before something else happens."

* * *

Nothing else did happen, though, and the result was that Keitaro and his classmates were able to sit in their examination hall some fifteen minutes before the test was set to begin. They tried to talk to one another, just to ease their nerves, but that didn't work, so eventually, they just sat together in nervous but companionable silence.

Keitaro found that he felt strangely relaxed and prepared. Perhaps it was because of what had just happened—maybe, subconsciously, he had told himself that if he could dodge a bike going at fifty miles per hour, he could do well on any test, even if it was the legendarily difficult Tokyo University entry exam.

Professor Nawaz began to hand out the tests with only minutes to go to the beginning of the examination period. Then, , the door to the hallway was shoved open and Naru entered.

She didn't meet anyone's eye as she sat down in a seat in the back of the room, moving rapidly to take out her pencils and erasers and prepare herself for the test.

Keitaro observed that she seemed to be frustrated and on-edge, and that her long, sandy hair was tousled somewhat, as if she'd just been in a hurricane. Or as if she'd just been on a motorbike, and hadn't managed to keep her hair in her helmet.

After a moment, he looked away from her and down at the packet of papers Professor Nawaz had kept on his desk. It was thick, though each individual sheet was about as thin as a newspaper's, and the print on it was small and tightly condensed.

That was intimidating, but when Keitaro thought about it, he realized that he expected nothing less.

After all, he was taking the test to get into Tokyo University, the college that he'd dreamed about attending for longer than he could remember. Why he wanted to get into Tokyo U, why he'd held the burning passion to go to that school for as long as he'd been aware, he wasn't sure, but when he strained his memory in his most peaceful, introspective moments, sometimes, he could almost recall a time and a place a thousand miles and as many years removed from anywhere he'd ever be, and a face—a girl's face—with brown hair and a smile just for him.

Keitaro almost looked back at Naru when he thought about that. But Professor Nawaz's announcement that they were then allowed to begin the test interrupted him, and, automatically, he opened the test book's cover to the first page.

Then, he drew in a deep breath, cleared his mind, and began to work.

* * *

(The next chapter will be a little longer, since I will cover Kitsune's swim meet, Motoko's black belt test, and the events surrounding it that will tie this piece together. Look forward to it in a couple weeks, and not long after that, Keitaro's greatest performance at the Yokohama Invitational.)


	17. Chapter 17

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Seventeen

* * *

(There will be some harsh language in this chapter.)

* * *

This facility was different from the one she'd practiced in, but not in any significant way. Sure, it was bigger and better, and sure, there were no fewer than a thousand spectators, but in its essence, it was still just a swimming pool. It was just another swimming pool, and Kitsune didn't have to try very hard to convince herself of it.

Perhaps at the beginning, she'd been nervous, but now, after winning her first three races, she didn't have to psyche herself up at all before she climbed up onto the starting block and prepared to go.

This was just another race, after all. Sure, it was the longest one she'd be participating in by far, and sure, she was more than a little tired due to her previous attempts, but she could do it. She could definitely do it, just one last time.

Kitsune heard the timer buzz to signal the beginning of the race. And before a half second had passed, she'd dived into the water.

As before, she focused on nothing but her own swimming for the first lap. It was true that swimming wasn't a high-level intellectual activity, but swimming _well_ required a great deal of concentration. She had to synchronize every active muscle in her body, plus her breathing, plus, she had to tell herself that she wasn't really that tired, and the lead she had managed to gain in the first lap would eke out.

Unfortunately, by the second lap, Kitsune's lead had diminished. She'd tired herself out in her previous races, whereas her opponents hadn't yet swam that day. The third lap was painful, since it saw her slow down enough to let some of the others pass, but on the fourth lap, Kitsune pulled out all the blocks and swam as fast as she possibly could. She ignored the lactic buildup in her muscles and the increasing tightness of her torso, and pushed herself, right until the very end.

She ended up having to essentially drag herself out of the pool so that she could sit on the edge, panting, until the placing was announced. At that point, it all became worth it, because while Kitsune hadn't won, she'd gotten third place. A bronze medal would accompany the three golds, it seemed, and she could live with that, she decided. She could definitely live with that.

It was at that point that Kitsune became aware of just how many people had come to watch the competition. And apart from the hundreds present, there was media, too, so there were probably hundreds more watching on TV. It was true that most of the cameras were, at the moment, focused on the winner of that race, but, within minutes, they began to focus on Kitsune again. After all, she was the dark horse who had won _three_ gold medals in the same meet, plus a bronze, and there was something about the way she shyly smiled at the several competitors who congratulated her that made her rather photogenic indeed.

* * *

The award ceremony didn't take place long after the last race was over, and that meant that Kitsune hadn't had much time to really grasp what had happened. She had walked up to the stand in almost a daze, bowed her head, received her medals—all four of them—before turning around, waving at the crowd, and making her way into the locker room without doing much else.

There, she'd showered and changed into a track suit, packed her things into a duffel bag, and ducked out of the building before anyone could find her. From what the other athletes had said, the media was eager to talk to Kitsune, and she just wasn't in the mood for an impromptu interview that would be broadcast on TV for the whole nation to see.

The problem with her escape was, however, that she ended up in a side lot some distance from the stadium's main entrance. It took her a few moments to realize where she was, but when she did, she took out her phone and dialed as quickly as she could. People were starting to leave, and the last thing Kitsune wanted was for one of them to recognize her—

"Psst! Kitsune! Over here!"

Kitsune looked at what she'd assumed to be a row of bushes that separated the parking lot from a small road. She wasn't sure, but she could have sworn that it had just _spoken_ to her—and then it became clear that it wasn't a row of bushes at all, but Kaolla. The foreigner materialized out of seemingly thin air and moved forward, taking Kitsune by the wrist

"I have the VIP," she muttered into a microphone clipped to her collar. "Proceeding to RV."

She then began to pull Kitsune out of the parking lot, toward a plaza not far from the stadium.

"What's going on?" Kitsune asked. She tried to get Kaolla to let go of her, but the younger girl's grasp on her arm was quite firm.

"Ssh! And keep your head down! We're almost there…"

Kitsune decided not to question what was going on, though she did successfully pry Kaolla's fingers off of her. She then half-crouched and followed the young foreigner past the plaza and into another parking lot.

And there was the van that they had all used to get to the stadium in the first place.

Shinobu opened the side door and then moved out of the way so that Kitsune could dive in, shortly followed by Kaolla, who closed the door after her. Up front, Motoko confirmed to Keitaro—the driver—that they were all clear, and then, they began to drive.

"A perfect mission… a fitting conclusion for a perfect competition!" Kaolla said. She then turned to Kitsune and quite brusquely shook her hand. "Congratulations!"

Everyone all joined in, and so, while Kitsune tried to cut in to point out that she'd gotten one bronze medal, she didn't get a chance. In moments, she was forced to unzip her jacket to show the spoils of her victory, so that everyone could admire them, snap photos, and congratulate her again.

* * *

After arriving at the hotel, they had eaten dinner and then split up. Motoko was meditating to prepare for her test the next day, and Kaolla and Shinobu were in their room studying and doing some school work while Haruka drafted an unpleasant but not quite rude letter to a tea supplier she'd been having problems with. Keitaro and Kitsune were on the roof of the hotel, all by themselves, enjoying the solitude and the stillness.

The Sun hadn't passed the horizon yet, but it was beyond the foreboding range of mountains that lay to the west of their hotel. The result was a strange, twilight-like ambience that lit the sky and the earth with a warm orange glow.

Keitaro couldn't help but stare at the mountains, though. Tomorrow, he'd get up early and take a train to Motoko's ancestral home to watch her take her black belt test, and then he'd take another train to a one of the isolated peaks Keitaro could just barely see in the distance.

Then he'd sleep—or try to, anyway—and then, he'd compete in the Yokohama Invitational.

It was less than two days away. And, for the first time, Keitaro could actually _see _where it would take place.

It would have excited him in normal circumstances. If he'd been told that he would be transported to the top of one of those desolate peaks just to ride all the way down, he'd have been ecstatic. But in two days, he'd have to _race_ all the way down, and his opponents would be the absolute best bikers in the world. Athletes he'd looked up to for years, athletes who did things on two wheels that sometimes even he couldn't make sense of… he'd be in direct competition with them, and, to a degree, that did scare Keitaro. The possibility of injuring himself, even seriously, didn't concern Keitaro very much—he'd lived with that reality for years—but what did scare him was the possibility of embarrassing himself. If he performed poorly, then his aspirations of continuing to bike competitively for as long as he could would be _over_.

"Tell me, Kitsune," he said, "when you were competing… with hundreds and thousands of people watching from all over the world… what was it like?"

Kitsune leaned against the railing and looked over her shoulder into the distance for a moment before she answered.

"To be honest, I might as well have been swimming in an empty stadium," she said. "I knew there were people watching, but I didn't let it get to me. Because no matter what everyone was doing or wasn't doing, or who was or wasn't watching, the only thing that really mattered was me and the water. So, I just focused on that, and everything else just sort of faded away.

"Sorry, I wish I could say something more comforting," Kitsune continued some seconds later. "You must be really nervous about the YI, right?"

"Yeah," Keitaro whispered. "I guess I am."

Kitsune said nothing. She simply looked at Keitaro until, after a moment, he stood next to her, holding onto the railing so that he, too, could look at the mountains where he'd define himself as a biker in just two days.

"How did you do on the entry exam?" Kitsune asked, from a place far closer to him than she had been.

"I… did alright. At least, I think—I _hope_ I did," Keitaro replied.

"Just alright?" Kitsune asked.

"Well, I… I mean…"

Keitaro turned to face Kitsune. By this point, she really was very close to him.

He smiled.

"I had time to double-check everything. I even had time to triple-check a few parts. There was one question in the written Japanese part that confused me, but I…"

He stopped talking, but it wasn't entirely a matter of choice. Kitsune had closed what little distance remained between them and touched her lips to Keitaro's. Their second kiss was longer and deeper than their first, and it was for this reason that Kitsune didn't realize that they weren't entirely alone after all.

* * *

Naru, however, was more alone than she'd ever been in her life. After leaving Hinata Inn, she hadn't spoken to anyone outside of the few words she'd had to use to buy groceries and board buses. She hadn't contacted anyone via telephone, email, or text message—she couldn't, not at this point, because the first thing she had done after leaving the inn was to throw her phone down the nearest sewer she could find.

It was a distraction, after all, and Naru had to concentrate. She had to study.

And so she had studied, from the moment she woke up to the moment she slept, barely pausing to eat or take care of herself. Hours and days lost meaning to her; the only thing she did to keep track of time was to set an alarm clock on her computer that would warn her when it was time to get going to Tokyo U.

When it had sounded, she had gotten up, closed her books, and walked out the door. She had given herself time to work around any distractions or opportunities she met on the way, and that was fortune, because without those extra few minutes, she might have ended up entering the test hall late. As it was, she only just made it.

She took the exam. Then, uninterested in socializing with her peers, she had gotten on the first bus she encountered.

Where she ended up, she wasn't sure. It was some sort of small town, just outside of Tokyo, not quite far enough into the mountains to be called rural, but not connected enough to the city to be called a suburb. It was quiet and still and for hours, Naru simply walked its streets all by herself.

That simple, repetitive act of putting one foot in front of the other, of glancing up every now and then to guide herself in a wide, looping circle was probably the only thing that kept her from screaming, collapsing to the ground, and crying where everyone could see it.

And that was because she hadn't done well on the test.

Despite how hard she had studied, despite all she had sacrificed—her eyesight, her social life, her friends, the hobbies that she'd once enjoyed—she hadn't done well on the test. She'd barely finished each section in time, and that was only because she'd skipped over the questions that she knew that she couldn't have done, no matter how much time she'd had.

She was finished. She was done. She was certain that she had failed her test, and her eighteenth birthday was only weeks away. Her mother had made it clear long ago that when that happened, she'd no longer be able to count on her for support—financial or otherwise. Naru would have to get a job, but in this kind of economy, even college graduates were having hard time finding work.

She didn't know what she'd do. She had nowhere to go and no one to go to. There was nothing and no one in the world that cared about her, and if she wasn't able to take care of herself, what was there left for her but the indignity of living off of welfare?

Naru kept walking so that she didn't dwell too heavily on the fact that there was an alternative to that grim lifestyle, and that was an early trip to the grave.

Sometime late that night, she ended up sitting down in a park, staring at the harsh artificial glare of a nearby streetlight. It throbbed unpleasantly in her vision even after she closed her eyes, and even after she fell asleep, it was there, pulsing, throbbing, undulating, distracting.

* * *

And then she woke up, as if from a long dream, blinking until she was able to recognize her surroundings. She was in a playground, it seemed, and for some reason, it was so familiar to her that being there made her feel a strange sense of comfort. She felt calmer and more at-home than she had in years, and it was so peaceful that she simply stood where she was and enjoyed it for a moment.

There was a sandbox next to her. As if hypnotized, she entered it, sat down, and began to play. She built a few rudimentary structures with her hands (and since when were her hands so small?) and she drew a few symbols when she got bored of that.

She was alone, but not for long. Soon, someone else entered the sandbox and began to play with her.

It was hard to tell what he was saying. He spoke in a low, soft tone that made her lean forward without realizing it, and that he was looking away from her made it harder for her to give meaning to his words. But something about the way he was talking made her trust him, made her _like _him, and made her realize that she'd known him for a long, long time, no matter how completely she'd forgotten it.

Sitting in that sandbox and listening to that boy talk was an act of simple magic that she had never experienced elsewhere in her life. Those moments, no matter if they were real, imaginary, or something in between, were so precious that she tried desperately to cling to them, to remember every last detail of them that she could, but the harder she tried to grasp them, the more quickly they slipped through her fingers.

It was ending. He had stopped talking and was standing up to walk away, to leave her behind forever, with only the slightest intuition of the magic that they'd once shared.

She tried to run after him, but she was too small and her legs were too short; she couldn't catch up. He was already far away, boarding a car to go back to the distant place he called home, and the only thing he had to say to her at that point was goodbye.

He looked at her for the first time. His face was like nothing she'd seen before, so though he only faced her for a second, she remembered his face without having to try. And his name—she knew his name.

"Kei-kun!" she called. "Promise me… you'll go to Tokyo U with me, right?"

For a moment, she was sure that he hadn't heard her. But then, he turned halfway and smiled.

"Tokyo U," he said. "Alright, Naru-chan. Let's both do our best so that we can meet there, okay?"

She tried to answer, to say that she'd never stop trying and that she'd never forget him or what they'd promised to do together. But she couldn't, because that brief glimpse of a happiness that she'd struggle to search for but would scarcely find in her life was, at last, over.

* * *

Naru blinked several times before blurriness cleared from her eyes. Her surroundings were unfamiliar, but she didn't care. She was too focused on clinging to the vestiges of the only happiness she'd ever known in her life, but no matter how hard she tried, they ripped to shreds and slipped past her fingers.

Slowly, she started to realize what she had done. She'd pushed Keitaro away, the only person in her life she'd found true happiness with, even if it was just for a few moments. Keitaro was the key to the happiness she was supposed to find in Tokyo U, but she'd failed the entry exam—she was sure of it—and she been so terrible to the one person on the face of the planet who could possibly have helped her that he probably never wanted to see her face again.

It was a moment before Naru's face set and she straightened her back. She took note of where she was and how to leave the park, and then she nodded.

Keitaro might never want to see her again, but that was just too bad for him. She would see him—she had to—so that she'd be able to bear the year ahead of her, when she'd have to endure the humiliating lifestyle of a ronin. She didn't know how she'd sustain herself, but maybe if she talked to Keitaro and he remembered who she was and the happiness that they'd shared… maybe, just maybe, he would help her out.

Naru was a smart girl. In normal times, in a normal state of mind, she'd have realized how absurd her thoughts were, but no matter that she sat with a straight back and that she wasn't crying anymore, there was a subtle madness in her that stopped her from being rational. Maybe she would have overcome that, even then, if it hadn't been for the group of men who approached her from another part of the park.

She didn't hear them coming, she smelled them coming, because by then, Kitsune had given up drinking for long enough that the harsh fumes of hard liquor were again caustic to Naru's nose. She turned to face them—her face hardened—but no matter that her hair was messy and unkempt and that she was obviously angry, she was still a young girl, all alone.

They surrounded her. Naru stood up, turned on the ball of her foot, and threw the full force of her body behind her kick. As a result, it struck its target with enough force to drop him to his knees, _hard_. They left her alone after that, so Naru was free to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand and consider her next move.

* * *

"This is the fastest train in all of Japan, and one of the top three fastest in the world. It can go 450 kilometers or more in an hour, and it's been designed specifically for the comfort and convenience of its users," Keitaro said.

"And it's still making me nauseous," Kitsune complained. She supported her forehead with her hands and groaned, so, fortunately, she didn't hear Keitaro asking her if she was nauseous or nauseated.

The train was so empty that their group had split up. Motoko needed to meditate, and Kaolla, Shinobu and Haruka each had work to do, so Keitaro and Kitsune were left with a car to themselves. Under normal circumstances, this would have meant that they'd have private conversations, or maybe hold hands, but Kitsune wasn't in a state to be romantic at all. It almost annoyed Keitaro, but he knew that relationships weren't all fun and games. There would be hard times, and comforting a carsick (or trainsick?) girlfriend was far from too much to ask.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked. "I can't open a window, but… are you thirsty? Do you want some water?"

Kitsune looked up shakily. She was sweating a little bit, but she was tough enough to manage a smile.

"Soft drinks are supposed to be good at times like this… I think I saw a vending machine a few cars down; would you mind picking up a can of Coke for me?"

"No problem, Kitsune," Keitaro said. "Actually, I should head down there anyway…"

"Why?" Kitsune asked.

"Er, because it looked like the windows were a little bigger there, so the view should be better, right?"

Kitsune nodded vaguely and looked down again. Keitaro took this as an invitation to get going. He stood up, shaking his head at himself, and made his way down the gap between the seats to get to his destination. As he did, he often found himself glancing down the aisles of seats to make sure that they were empty, just like they had been when he'd left them. More than that, he found himself wondering just how durable a bullet train was; after all, Hinata Inn had had its water heater vandalized so it would explode, and if Naru—well, technically, he didn't _know_ that that had been Naru—but if someone was willing to go to such extremes to attack him or his friends, then who knew what else they might do?

Fortunately, he didn't find any "abandoned" articles of luggage or hear the electronic beeping of a countdown timer.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Motoko, he reasoned with himself, but she wasn't perfect. Apart from that, she was meditating just then, so if something did happen, it would take her time to respond to it.

Keitaro entered the next train car. As he did, the train itself started to turn, so the door to the section between the cars locked behind him. He was trapped in the car until the train finished turning, and someone else was in the same position as he was, though they had entered the car from the other door.

And that other person, trapped in the same car that he was, was Narusegawa Naru. Her hair was messy and her clothes were worse, but the only thing that made Keitaro wonder if it really was her was her eyes. They were wilder than usual, and when they focused on Keitaro, he found that he couldn't move.

She said something that he never heard and began to approach. Keitaro backed away immediately, but he couldn't escape—he was effectively locked in the train car with Naru, and the closer she got to him, the faster she approached him, and the faster she approached him, the closer she got to him. It was impossible to tell what she was planning to do, but fortunately, she never got a chance to put her plans into action.

Naru passed one aisle of seats in particular. As she did, a hand darted out from one side and clamped around her wrist, and before she could shake it off or even realize what was happening, a man stood up from another aisle and put himself between her and Keitaro. He was tall—taller than Keitaro, in fact—and the jacket he was wearing almost hid how lean he was. The man who had grabbed Naru's wrist was the shortest in the car, but he was bulky enough that he, too, was a presence.

"All right, Keitaro?" the taller one asked. By now, Naru had gotten away from the shorter one and was trying to wrestle her way to Keitaro, but he wasn't letting her. He blocked her path with his body and when sheer ferocity seemed like it was going to let her succeed, the shorter man grabbed her by the waistband and yanked her backward.

"Thanks, Haitani, Shirai," Keitaro said. His voice was flat and unemotional, and he'd long since steadied his breathing. He walked forward so that he could just see past the two of them and look at Naru, who was painfully picking herself up from the floor. "Sorry for putting you guys in danger like this… I never thought you'd actually have to fight with her to get her to leave me alone."

"I don't think she even realized what was going on," Shirai said. "Did you see the way she was coming at you? I must have sixty kilos on her, but I could barely hold on. Crazy bitch," he added, almost as an afterthought.

By now, Naru was hyperventilating. She must have bitten her tongue when Shirai had thrown her down, because when she stood up, a fine trickle of blood was running down the corner of her mouth.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," she said, with such venom in her voice that Haitani almost flinched. "And get out of the way. I have to talk to Keitaro—"

"So talk, he's right here," Haitani said.

"—in private!" she screamed.

"Are you crazy?" Keitaro asked. "Or do you think that I'm crazy? No way. If you want to say something to me, say it now, and be grateful that only Haitani and Shirai are going to hear it."

Naru stood still for just a second, and in that second, Haitani could have sworn that he saw a drop of wetness fall from her eye. But then she screamed with the force of a thousand demons, and this time, he really did flinch. The language she used was severe enough to have made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end if it had been delivered in a reasonable manner, and the curses she placed on Keitaro's future—romantically, academically, financially—made him want to do a lot more than wrestle her into submission.

Keitaro, of course, would clench his teeth and turn beet red for ten or twenty seconds. Then, he'd force himself to calm down, and, in a soft voice, say something maddeningly reasonable. Or, so Haitani thought.

"After everything you've done—breaking the window, knocking me out from a motorcycle, trying to run Professor Nawaz over—_blowing up a water heater _and almost _killing_ people—you have the nerve to say this kind of shit to me? This is coming from an emotionally unstable psycho, who hates all men because she has daddy issues! And Tokyo U—I _nailed_ the entrance exam, Naru, I nailed it. What about you—no, don't tell me. Let's raise the stakes of our bet right now. I'm willing to bet my life that I've gotten into Tokyo U and you haven't; want to take that bet? Do you, Naru?"

He paused for a moment to see if she would respond, but she didn't.

"No, I didn't think so. Well, it doesn't change anything as far as I'm concerned." The train was straightening out, so the cars wouldn't be isolated from one another for much longer. Keitaro began to back away, though he didn't break eye contact with Naru. "Goodbye for the last time, Naruseagawa Naru… on behalf of everyone. Go kill yourself—jump out of the fucking train right now. It's the least you can do."

She stared at him, but he didn't flinch or backpedal what he'd just said. And that was because he meant it and was willing to stand by it.

Urashima Keitaro: the only person who had ever made Naru happy, who had accepted her for who she was, and who had promised to meet her in the top university in all of Japan. The one she had unconsciously loved and idolized for half of her life. The one she had unflinchingly confront the future with ever since she'd remembered his name. Now, here he was, staring at her with a horrible sort of emptiness, just after telling her to commit suicide.

If Naru had had a knife, she would have stabbed him. If she'd had a gun, she would have shot him. But she was unarmed and outnumbered, and no matter what, she couldn't see any way for her to get past his friends before the train finished straightening out so that Motoko and Haruka could come in. Already she could see them in the other car, banging at the doors and struggling to get them to open just a little faster, and she knew that she didn't have much time.

So, she acted out of sheer spite. Instead of attacking Keitaro, she drew her fist back and struck Haitani in the mouth before he could do anything to stop her. The train straightened out and the moment the doors could be opened, Haruka and Motoko dashed in, but Naru sprinted out of the far door. She shut it behind her and broke the handle, jamming the door shut, and then ran off into the next car and far beyond before ten seconds could pass.

"She's gone!" Haruka swore. She and Motoko tried to force the door open, but it was stuck tight. They could force it open, but that might do enough damage to the walkway between the cars to expose it to open air. Naru was therefore well and truly gone, but Keitaro didn't notice this.

Haitani had gone down hard when Naru had hit her. Now, he was stunned on the ground, holding a hand up to his profusely-bleeding mouth and trying not to spit out blood: if he did that, he'd surely spit out broken teeth as well. Keitaro and Shirai managed to lift him into a seat, at which point he promptly passed out.

Keitaro's hands were bloodied. Shirai's were as well, but he only fumbled with his phone slightly before he was able to call for an ambulance to the next train stop. When he was finished, he sat down heavily across the aisle from Haitani and held his face in his hands. Meanwhile, Haruka was still swearing loudly at the door and Motoko was trying to channel the power of her spirit to open it. This didn't result in anything, but that didn't discourage them. In seconds, they were each shouting louder and louder, until finally, Shirai stood up.

"You're all fucking crazy," he said. Motoko turned to face him, but he wasn't intimidated by her stature or that she had a hand on her sword. "Women are all crazy. I don't know how you stayed sane around them, Keitaro, but it's no wonder that Naru really went insane. Look at this—a fake samurai with a real sword? And what about the other ones?"

By then, Shinobu and Suu had entered the car and were trying to figure out what was going on.

"That's right," Shirai continued. "A silent mouse, and a foreigner who builds explosives and weapons in her free time. Even the adult around here is a psycho!"

Indeed, Haruka was still swearing and attacking the door. She hadn't noticed what was being said, so it fell to Keitaro to put his hand on Shirai's wrist and try to calm him down.

"Shirai, I know that you're upset and that Haitani's hurt, but… please don't say such things, alright? Especially not about my family. That's just…" he shook his head.

"But it's true!" Shirai said. "Women are all fucking nuts, no matter if they're in your family or not. Have you met a sane woman at all, Keitaro, in the past—since you've come to Japan? Even your grandmother is crazy, look at what she dumped onto you!"

For a long moment, Keitaro didn't say anything. His mouth opened and closed several times before he almost whispered, "Kitsune isn't crazy."

"Kitsune?" Shirai said. "She's the craziest of them all, she's just good at hiding it! Keitaro, I know Kitsune from the last time I was in Japan a few years ago. Back then, she—if she wasn't on booze, she was on drugs! She didn't work enough to pay for them, so she got her boyfriends to get them for her—and I use the term boyfriend very, very loosely. I was with her a bunch of times in the week I was around Kanagawa, but I wasn't the only one. Once, another guy was with her—that didn't stop me from joining in, and it didn't stop her from letting me."

Keitaro was silent. He looked into Shirai's eyes for any sign of dishonesty, but there were none. So, he looked past Shirai at where Kitsune had appeared in the car.

"Is it true?" he asked.

Kitsune looked away. Her hair hid her face and the drop of wetness that rolled down it, but there was no mistaking the slight up-down motion her head made when she nodded. Keitaro was saved from having to react to that when the train slowed down and stopped: they had arrived at the station.

Haruka and Motoko departed immediately to see if they could catch Naru, so Keitaro and Shirai lifted Haitani out of the train. The moment they were off, the waiting EMTs took over and carried the unconscious teenager into a waiting ambulance. Shirai followed immediately, and after a moment of hesitation, Keitaro did too.

"Sempai!" Shinobu called. "Will you join us for Motoko's black belt test?"

"Of course I will," Keitaro said after only a few seconds of hesitation. "But I need to be with Haitani first. After that, I'll come to support Motoko, and after that…" He looked away. Then, he vanished into the ambulance with his two greatest friends in the world and drove out of sight.

Motoko and Haruka returned to the rest of the girls some moments later. The Sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in the sky, but that didn't stop all of them moving with a certain lethargy as they made their way to the bus that would take them to Motoko's ancestral home.

* * *

She'd spent the better part of a lifetime building up to this point. Thousands of hours on the mat, thousands more of instruction, and thousands more of physical conditioning and mental training had gone into preparing her for the test that was before her. To prepare for it, Motoko had spent days meditating and focusing on herself, so that when the time came to perform, she would show her best to the elders who would decide if she was worthy of wearing a jiu jitsu black belt.

She had done everything right, and she was doing everything right as she walked out into the small open-air testing arena that was used for just this purpose. She bowed to the elders, seated on one side of the platform, and then she bowed to the two dozen or so members of the audience who had come to support her. She controlled her breath, her posture, even the speed at which she walked onto the mat and knelt so that her internal harmony and perfection would be clear.

It was all a ruse, though. Because the moment Motoko had looked at the audience and seen that Keitaro wasn't there, she had felt her poise fail, just a little bit. It wasn't something that most people could have noticed, just a slight waver in the next step she took, but the martial arts grandmasters watching her weren't like most people. To them, imperfection _was_ failure.

There was a slight noise to the side of her, and although her marks had already suffered due to the misstep she'd made, Motoko couldn't stop herself from glancing to see what it had been. She didn't regret it, though: Keitaro had returned at the last minute, and was taking a seat some distance from the rest of the Hinata Inn crowd. The expression on his face was unlike anything she'd ever seen on it before for a few seconds, but then he smiled at her and mouthed a silent "good luck".

Motoko faced forward after that and didn't look away again. The result was that she completed the next hour of intense testing without even breaking a sweat.

When she finished, everyone congratulated her: her sister, her parents, her friends, and the Hinata Inn crowd. Not Keitaro, though—he, and his bike, were nowhere to be found.

* * *

(YI next chapter. That is all.)


	18. Chapter 18

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Eighteen

* * *

It hadn't been wise to do what he had, biking for hours the night before a race that would define his career as an athlete. It also hadn't been wise to pull off the road and sleep under the stars, or try to, because no matter what, Keitaro hadn't been able to sleep. He'd been able to relax, it was true, and force the unpleasant events of the day before out of his mind, but he hadn't been able to sleep. He gave up around two in the morning and sat up, and, for the rest of the night, he just thought.

At first, he thought about the months leading up to that day. It felt like so long ago when he'd come to Japan; back then, he'd been a completely different person with different priorities and a certain childishness about him that maturity and wisdom had slowly come to replace. He'd changed since then, and he knew it. Back then, just being around a girl would be enough to make Keitaro stutter, but now he was dealing with his first relationship… and the end of his first relationship.

Now that he thought about it, he'd been crazy to look at Kitsune as even a friend. She was neither more nor less than an alcoholic, after all—well, now she was a recovering alcoholic, but that didn't change what had happened in the past. The person she'd been back then wasn't the kind of person he could be with no matter how attractive she was.

Then again, Kitsune wasn't just attractive. She was sweet, and kind, and now that she had given up drinking, she was mature, and smart, and, quite possibly, a better athlete than Keitaro. Apart from that, she had a future ahead of her. Her writing career was reaching new heights every week, and she couldn't be interested in Keitaro _just_ because of what she saw in him. She had money of her own that she'd managed just fine even in the depths of her alcoholism; she could easily be financially secure for the rest of her life even if she never worked anything other than part time.

But none of that mattered, did it? After all, nothing Kitsune could ever do would change the past.

It almost felt unjust to think that, but it was true. Once things had been done, they could never be undone, and Keitaro would never try to ignore or deny that. After all, it was because of the past that he'd set his sights on Tokyo University in the first place!

Memories of that day were usually fleeting and impossible to grasp, but that night, Keitaro was able to focus on them for the first time in years. He couldn't remember who he'd made that promise with, just that he'd meant it, even though he'd barely been five years old, and so had she. Keitaro could never break that promise, so even if that girl had forgotten about it—or even if she was dead or something—he would still go to Tokyo U, nothing could stop him. And once he met her again, they'd fulfill the terms of their promise and move forward with the next stages of their lives.

Theirs had been a positive past. Kitsune's had not. So, no matter that she had changed and that the person she had become was a respectable, amazing woman, Keitaro had no choice. He couldn't be with her because of her past. Because of his own past, he'd have to be with… a girl he didn't even know anymore. Even if she was Narusegawa Naru.

That thought actually made Keitaro smile sadly. It wasn't impossible, after all, that the girl that he'd promised to go to Tokyo U with was Naru. She was the right age, after all, and she was certainly in the right area. So if it was her… Keitaro didn't know what he'd do. After all, he couldn't ignore the past or who he had been, no matter how much he might want to.

Or maybe he was wrong. Maybe the past was something to be looked upon fondly and to learn lessons from. Maybe it wasn't a binding vice… maybe it was just a set of guidelines that could safely be ignored in the right circumstances, but Keitaro wasn't sure. He just wasn't sure.

A long time later, he realized that it was almost dawn. So, he swung a leg over his bicycle and started to pedal, slowly making his way up into the mountains to the staging area where the Yokohama Invitational would begin.

* * *

It was still early in the morning when the group drove towards the mountains, and as such, there was barely another car on the road. They had therefore thought that despite how huge of a race the YI was, they would make it to the starting line in time to get good seats.

They were wrong, though. A lot of the other fans had camped near the starting line overnight, and dozens more had arrived before dawn. Kitsune managed to get decent parking, but by then, it was clear that they would barely be able to see the starting line from whatever spots were left. The YI was an incredibly important mountain biking race, after all, but it wasn't designed for spectators. Only a few hundred supporters of the sport—or, more accurately, the participants, their team, and a few friends—were expected to show up, and they'd already been accommodated on a series of metal bleachers just a few yards from the starting line.

Everyone else, including the Hinata Inn group, was reduced to gathering in the forest and standing on their tip toes to try to catch a glimpse of anything.

The whole area was busy with activity as some of the more popular bikers took pictures with fans while their support crews checked on their bikers. Others simply hung around one another, and in one corner of the event, there was a group of cigarette-smoking men and women who seemed to be betting on the race.

This was where everyone assumed Kitsune had gone when they realized that she wasn't with them anymore, but she wasn't there. She'd seen Keitaro biking up the mountainside, all by himself, and so she'd gone running to him. He had passed her, though, and shown his ID to one of the event organizers to get into the part of the area reserved for race participants, their teams, and one or two others only.

Kitsune wasn't allowed in.

* * *

Many of the other racers had a few people with them to check that their bikes and gear were in top condition before the race started, but Keitaro and the other amateur participants tended not to. They were in the YI for fun, not to win, so there was a certain level of condescension Keitaro was treated with as he greeted some of the athletes he'd spent years trying to emulate.

He ought to have been nervous, but he wasn't. Even though photographers had swarmed around him when he'd entered the bikers only area, and even though there were dozens of spectators standing and sitting nearby, Keitaro simply didn't care. He might as well have been on an empty mountain, because everything but he, his bike, and the mountain were irrelevant. Nothing else but he and what he could do for himself mattered.

Someone attempted to block his path to the starting line: Sakata Kentaro. Keitaro looked up at his smug, grinning face for about a second before shoving past the other man to get to where he was going.

"What's going on—are they starting?" Kitsune asked sharply.

"No, not yet," Kaolla replied. "It looks they're handing out radios to the racers… let me see if my microphone can pick it up…"

A moment later, a distorted but understandable voice could be heard from the speakers of the video camera Kaolla was aiming at the starting line. "These radios are for emergencies," the speaker said. "All you have to do is hold down the 'call' button and tell us where you are, and we'll send a chopper down for you right away…"

"A helicopter?" Motoko said. "Isn't that overkill?"

Kitsune looked away from the starting line for the first time in over an hour. They were at the top of one of the taller mountains in the area; once the bikers, left the starting line, it seemed that their path would take them up to the snow-capped peak of the very tallest. After that, they'd cut their way down the mountainside through forests and off of vast bluffs in the ground, only to pass a rocky field and get through a deep chasm before they got to the finish line. Apart from that, Kitsune had read one of the brochures about the race being passed around: there was a path, sure, but it wasn't necessary for bikers to follow it. The winner was the one who crossed the finish line first, no matter what path he took to get to it.

And then, there was the moment of silence the crowd had shared some moments before, when the man who had died in the race of the previous year had been remembered.

"No," Kitsune said, "it's definitely not overkill."

The Sun was high enough in the sky by then that if it hadn't been for the trees covering the mountaintop, it would have been unpleasantly bright for the spectators. Many of the racers were putting sunglasses on under their visors, but Keitaro wasn't. He didn't have any, and although some were being sold at exorbitant prices by the several stands set up nearby, Kitsune couldn't have gotten them to him. He was preparing for the race all by himself, putting his protective gear on as he normally did, and checking the transmission of his bike as he sometimes did. Kitsune couldn't see his face clearly from where she was, but it seemed to her that he looked… actually quite calm.

Maybe he was being confident. Or maybe he had hidden his fear so well that even she couldn't see it, even though she knew him better than anyone else. Either way, it didn't matter. All that mattered was how Keitaro placed in the race—or not even that, Kitsune thought, when she remembered the steep drops and treacherous landscapes he'd have to contend with.

All that mattered was whether or not he'd come out of it in one piece.

Keitaro looked to his left, then to his right. There were around ten other bikers on either side of him. He knew all of them by name and some of them by face, and although he was confident that he'd be a match for some of them, he was equally confident that some of them would leave him in the dust before they got to the halfway point.

He was alright with that, though. He was the youngest participant in the Yokohama Invitational _ever_, and just placing well in it would guarantee him a permanent place in mountain biking folklore. All he had to do was to stay safe and bike hard. So, he adjusted his gloves on last time, placed one foot on the pedal, and waited for the race to start.

He could see it all in front of him. The rough path carved through the forests that would take him to a nearby snow-covered mountaintop, and the forests that would lead him to rocks and a deep gash in the earth to the finish line. Beyond that, he saw himself at Tokyo University, studying hard under some of the most difficult and accomplished professors in the world, and beyond that, Keitaro dared to see himself as a professional: a grown man with a life, and, perhaps someday, a family.

To do all that, Keitaro would have to work hard. He'd have to prove himself to his peers and superiors, but more importantly, he'd have to prove himself to himself, and the first chance he'd have to do that was then, there, in one of the most challenging and dangerous mountain biking competitions in the world.

He shut his eyes. Then, when the race began, he opened them and began to bike as hard as he possibly could.

But his competitors were rough and the path ahead was too narrow to admit too many at once. Keitaro pulled back to avoid being caught in a glut of bikers, and the result was that he was able to peel off to the side and pass several who had passed him in the first seconds of the race. He managed to get ahead of the pack, but he was far from secure in the uphill battle he fought with the rest of the bikers. He could sense them just a few yards off his tail, pedaling as fast as they could to prevent him from getting too far ahead.

They had all switched to low gears to get up the mountainside, but Keitaro had been able to build up enough speed to switch up a gear. This allowed him to pull away somewhat, capitalizing on his early gains. He looked ahead: the most navigable route to the finish line, indeed, the route that the race leaders were taking, led through a few dozen yards of light forest up to the top of a snow capped mountain. At that point, the path narrowed dangerously: there was only so much space that was safe to bike over, and if anyone left that area, they'd likely careen off the mountainside.

With that in mind, Keitaro switched up another gear and biked even faster. He wasn't able to pass the biker in front of him, but that wasn't his goal—he intended to keep ahead of the jostling pack behind him so that when he did get to the top of the mountain, he wouldn't have to slow down or stop in order to avoid being forced off the trail.

The ploy worked better than Keitaro had thought. By expanding a huge amount of effort on just that first leg of the race, he was able to put some distance between himself and the tightly-packed group of bikers behind him. He was starting to sweat already, but that couldn't be avoided. By now, Keitaro was approaching the crest of the mountain and on either side of him was ice or massive, unstable boulders. There was only one safe path down, and as long as he kept a good speed on the descent, no one would be able to pass him.

Keitaro passed the very top of the mountain, feeling like he was on the top of the world. There were only three or four bikers in front of him, and once he shifted up a gear and tucked his limbs close to his body, he was able to start to put on the speed.

That was when he realized that while he had taken the only safe, sane route over the top of the mountain, some of the competitors were not. Two passed him on the right, using sudden bursts of speed to slide over the snow and ice that Keitaro had avoided, and another one passed him on the left, skipping from boulder to boulder until he made a mistake and fell off of his bike into a pile of rocks.

To avoid that crash, another biker cut dangerously close to Keitaro, making him sharply turn to the right. That meant that the biker who had attempted to cut over the snow and ice struck Keitaro would enough force to make him lurch forward.

For a second, Keitaro struggled to get his bike back under control. He almost fell, but he righted himself just in time to see that several of the bikers who had passed him had piled up on one another right in the middle of the trail. Keitaro was going too fast to avoid him, so he tried to pass around them, driving dangerously close to the edge of the mountain.

Vertigo consumed him as he involuntarily glanced into thin air. The dropoff was a sheer, near-vertical hundred meter fall that bottomed out with wicked-looking spires of rock. Falling off of there would certainly be fatal, and Keitaro realized that just as one biker from the center of the chaos peeled off and ran directly into him, sending them both careening over the edge.

* * *

Time slowed down, and so Keitaro was able to react. He was tumbling—he stopped this by pushing outward so that his tires made contact with the cliff face just before they fell away from him. He then allowed himself to fall, down, down, and down, toward one spire of rock in particular. He had to hit it just right—if he came at it at the wrong angle, he'd be smashed on its surface or else he'd dive uselessly past it and end up crashing into the bottom of the gorge, another fifty meters down.

But Keitaro managed to hit the side of the rock spire just right. He glanced off of it, slowing himself down somewhat and changing his angle. He then landed on a sheer, sloping part of the cliff a lot harder, but at just the right angle to survive the fall and rocket away from it faster than he'd ever gone before.

Adrenaline was still pumping through his veins as he made his way toward a forest and a gradual incline that might bring him back to the path the rest of the bikers would take. For a second, Keitaro actually felt elation rather than fear—and that was when the other biker who had fallen, the one who had knocked him off the edge in the first place, plowed into him from the side and took them both off of their bikes.

Keitaro tried to use his arms to soften the blow, but there wasn't enough time. He struck a pile of rocks and dirt hard enough to dent part of his visor and knock the wind out of him, and for a moment, he didn't dare to move. A fair amount of the collision's force had been transferred to his helmet, his head, and if his neck had been in the wrong position…

But no. Keitaro could move all of his limbs, and when he flexed his fingers, they responded perfectly. He'd be bruised, even through his gear, but he wasn't badly hurt. He hadn't even broken anything, but the other biker hadn't been so lucky. Keitaro sat up, panting, and saw the other man laying motionless at the base of a tree. He'd taken the brunt of his own collision to his head, and his visor was shattered.

It didn't even occur to Keitaro to get back to the race. Instead, he dashed to the downed biker's side, moving to see if he was alright—but then, he thought better of it. Manipulating his spine or neck could easily hurt him even more, so instead, Keitaro took out the radio that he'd been issued. He fumbled with it—his hands were shaking—and it took him a few seconds to manage to press the call button.

"I need a chopper down here immediately," he said. "There was a crash—I'm okay, but the other guy isn't moving."

He was talking over himself, so Keitaro looked away from the lifeless body next to him and forced himself to concentrate. "We're fell off of—"

"Don't you dare say it, half-breed."

Sakata Kentaro reached up and yanked Keitaro's radio out of his hands, throwing it off into the forest. He stood up, all six foot four of him, and spent a few seconds stretching. Keitaro looked to see where his radio was for a moment, but Ken had thrown it out of sight.

"It looks like you're alright," Keitaro said. "Well… I'm going to get back to the race. See you, Ken—"

"Wait," Kentaro said. He was staring up at the cliff they'd fallen off of, but after a moment, he looked into the distance, where the path seemed to lead. It snaked around the mountaintops and then led somewhere where he couldn't see, not from the bottom of the mountain.

"Why bother?" Ken said. "There's no point in trying to go on from here. We're done—there's no way we can catch up after this. The rest of them have to go downhill to get to the finish line, but we'll have to go uphill—we'll never be able to get close to them."

Keitaro said nothing for a moment. He swallowed to get past an obstruction that had formed in his throat and managed to say, "I know. But I'd rather complete the YI than sit here and call for medical evacuation when we don't need it. At least that way, we can hold our heads up."

"Hold our heads up? After bungling the first leg of the race? Nah, forget it," Ken said. He took his helmet off and spat bitterly on the ground. "Shit, it wasn't worth the trouble of sneaking into this fucking thing."

"What?" Keitaro said.

"When I was in DC, I met this kid whose parents are NSA hackers. I sent him a few sweets and candies that are only sold in Japan, and he got me into the YI. Idiot," Ken said.

"Ken, that's—that's not good, man!" Keitaro said. "What's going to happen if you get caught? You'll be blacklisted from the whole sport! Don't you care—don't you know that what you did is wrong?"

Ken turned to face Keitaro, and for the first time, Keitaro could see just how long he'd grown his hair: his straight, sleek, brown hair.

"Don't you dare talk to me about right and wrong," Ken said. "All that stuff is just nonsense you moralizers make up to keep me from winning, but I'm smart enough to see through it. I don't care about your bullshit, even if my dad does."

"Well, what's your dad's going to say when he finds out about this?" Keitaro said. Ken was starting to advance on him, so he took a step back.

"He's going to say what he always says," Ken said. "'Why can't you be more like that Urashima boy? He's so polite, and he knows what's right and wrong. Why can't you be more like him?'"

"Calm down, Ken," Keitaro said. He'd backed himself up to the edge of a small precipice, he couldn't take another step back without falling a few meters down into a pile of rocks. "Look—you're right. We've lost the race, and we're both hurt, so let's just call a chopper and give up. Just give me your radio, and that'll be that, alright?"

Ken was within two or three meters of Keitaro by then. He was breathing hard—hyperventilating, really—but after a moment, he reached down and took his radio from where it had been attached to the rest of his gear. Then, he threw it past Keitaro as hard as he could.

"No choppers, half-breed," he said. "They'll find you in a few hours, I expect, after I've crossed the finish line on my own. I'll have survived the fall, but you…" he shook his head in mock sorrow. "What a tragedy."

If it hadn't been for his helmet, Ken's first punch would have knocked Keitaro out. As it was, the heavy blow brought him to the ground, and had Keitaro been a second slower, Ken would have been on his feet and free to stomp him until he stopped moving. But Keitaro managed to bring Kentaro to the ground with him and get him into a tight guard, and a moment later he'd locked his hands behind Ken's neck, pinning him in place.

Kentaro was strong, though. He managed to posture up, breaking free of Keitaro's grasp, and this put him in a position to punch Keitaro more. Keitaro still had him in guard, but now he was too busy trying to catch the worst of Ken's punches on his gauntlets to do anything else. He was panicking—every time Ken struck him, he felt his head snap back somewhat, and even though Ken didn't have his helmet on, Keitaro couldn't punch back—his arms weren't long enough, and the more Ken punched him and held him down with his body weight, the weaker he felt himself become.

But Ken didn't know anything about jiu jitsu—and Keitaro did. So, when Ken punched again, Keitaro grabbed his hand—not his wrist, his hand. Then, he pushed back, putting enough pressure on Ken's wrist that he shouted in pain, and then he pressed his advantage. Keitaro took his far shoulder off the ground, reached around Ken's arm, and grabbed his own wrist. Then, he swiveled to the side and used his legs to drive Ken belly down on the ground, and began to press Kentaro's wrist farther and farther up his back.

Gyaku ude-garami. Or, as Keitaro knew it, kimura: an armlock that targeted the shoulder and was designed to cause intense enough pain to bring about a rapid submission. But Kentaro didn't tap, so Keitaro just cranked his shoulder more, and more, and more and more, until he heard the sickly wet sound of ligaments and muscle tearing.

And then he became aware that Ken had been screaming for the past several seconds.

Keitaro got up immediately and jumped back. He didn't feel bad about what he'd done—in fact, he wasn't sure how he felt as he looked down at Ken, groaning on the ground in agony. His arm remained at an unnatural angle behind his back, and when he tried to move it, he screamed again.

"You shouldn't have thrown away the radios," Keitaro said. "Now, I… don't know what you're going to do. You really messed up, Ken."

He started to make his way back toward his bike. He picked it up from the ground and looked it over for a moment—it seemed to be in good working order, and Keitaro was just about to throw a leg over it when he saw motion in the periphery of his vision. Ken had stood up, and a gust of wind made Keitaro notice just how long, straight, and brown his hair was.

"Were you in Tokyo a few days ago?" Keitaro asked.

"Yes. And yes—I was the guy on the motorbike. Both times."

Keitaro put a hand on the side of his face. He was no longer bruised, but even then, his cheekbone didn't feel quite the same as it once had. He was going to say something about that, and about how Ken had almost killed an innocent man just to get to him, but he didn't. The look on Ken's face was enough to tell him that there was nothing he could say to make Ken regret his actions.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me?" Keitaro asked.

"Yeah. I wish I'd thrown a grenade through your window, not a rock. Then maybe I could have gotten you, or one of those whores you live with."

"You almost did afterwards," Keitaro said.

"What are you talking about? Did someone else try to do my work for me? Tell me who it was, half-breed; I want to shake his hand."

Keitaro's eyes hardened. Then he began to smile in a way that he rarely had before in his life.

"Shake their hands?" he asked. "How?"

Ken saw what Keitaro was gesturing at: the useless limb dangling at his side. He then looked at the smile on Keitaro's face, and heard his baleful laughter. And that made him go insane. He never recalled racing toward Keitaro and going for his face with his good hand, but he also never recalled Keitaro dropping to his back, grabbing his sleeves and kicking outward, either, because that made him sail past Keitaro, into open air, only to fall to a group of rocks twenty feet below.

* * *

Keitaro didn't think about the fight when he got back on his bike: he thought about what he was doing and what he meant to do. He was biking, and his goal was to…

When he realized that his goal—to earn a respectable place in the YI—was impossible to achieve, he almost stopped where he was. But then he thought about it. He'd already survived a fall that would have killed most people, and he'd survived it without getting hurt. He was the youngest participant in the YI ever, and even if he came in last place by several hours, what he'd done was already enough to make him a biking legend.

So was there really anything wrong with doing his best, and enjoying the rest of the race? After all, he was alone, now, and without the dozens of other bikers jostling all around him, he was starting to get into his element. The mountain air was fresher and clearer than it ever was in Pakistan or around DC, and when he filled his lungs with it, he found a surprising amount of strength in his body.

So he started to bike faster. He cut through meadows and across creeks, and when he got to the next group of mountains, he didn't go over them, he found a chasm and went _through_ them. His muscles started to burn, but that didn't stop him. He was used to working through fatigue, and this time, he was pulling out all the stops. He wasn't saving any energy to recover for the next workout, after all, because this was his moment, and anything that came after it was a footnote at best.

Within miles, Keitaro found himself losing himself to the experience. He didn't think, he just acted, and only a small part of his conscious mind remained. It was barely active enough to allow him to realize that he seemed to be going downhill, overall, and that that might allow him to get to the finish line at a respectable time. As Keitaro continued to ride, the increased signs of human presence weren't quite enough to make him realize anything at all.

Even after Keitaro passed the finish line, he kept biking for some distance, until he almost ran into a chained-off section of trees designed to keep spectators from race participants.

In a daze, Keitaro stopped. He took his helmet off and spent a few moments catching his breath; he'd never biked so hard for so long in his life. He was proud of what he'd done, but that didn't stop him from feeling a pang when he realized that the whole area, the finish line of the most important mountain biking event in the world, was empty. There were barely any spectators, there were _no_ other bikers, and the only race officials Keitaro could see were running toward him even then, probably to demand why he hadn't called them on his radio when they'd already spent hours searching for him once he'd failed to turn up at the finish line.

That was when another bike pulled in behind Keitaro.

And then another.

And then, some time later, another.

More spectators were starting to arrive in buses, vans, and motorcycles, and finally, _finally_ Keitaro realized that the officials and fans swarming around him weren't laughing in his face or insulting him. They were congratulating him, because he, Urashima Keitaro, had won the Yokohama Invitational.

* * *

(The next chapter will be the last. I intend to tie everything together, and—well, you'll see in good time.

Please review this chapter, because I will have a special treat in store for anyone who has consistently reviewed this piece and given me more useful feedback than "Nice, update soon". I'll say nothing more here, but remember that it's never too late to go back and give me a few useful comments.

See you next chapter.)


	19. Chapter 19

Love Hina: Outsider Looking In

Chapter Nineteen

* * *

All Keitaro could do was hope that he hadn't entirely bungled the impromptu interview he'd given to the several media outlets present at the YI—the moment he got off his bike, exhaustion struck him and he very nearly collapsed. Race officials held him up, though, and only allowed the media to ask him a few questions before they whisked him off to a waiting ambulance to make sure that he wasn't hurt.

Keitaro remembered looking down at the heavy medal wrapped around his neck and feeling it in his fingers. He'd dreamed of wearing one like it before, a hundred times, but actually having one was almost unbelievable. For a long time, Keitaro really wasn't sure if he was awake or asleep, because everything he was experiencing was too good to be true.

Then he heard a voice that he hadn't heard in person for months, calling his name. He looked up and saw two faces that meant more to him than anything else in the world, and then he struggled past the several medical technicians still examining him. He hadn't seen his parents in months, after all, and that they'd flown halfway around the world to see him in his moment of triumph meant more to him than he could express.

* * *

They took Keitaro to a nearby hotel after that to shower and catch a quick nap. After that, they gave him a tracksuit (courtesy of the company whose logo was emblazoned across the chest) and took him back to the YI finish line to talk to the media a little more, but more importantly, so that he could shake hands with competitors and fans alike, swamp email addresses, and so that the several companies who had funded the race could talk to Keitaro's father—his manager, for that day at least—about the business opportunities that would come to the youngest participant _and winner_ of the Yokohama Invitational in history.

After that, they went back to the hotel and let Keitaro sleep more until it was time for dinner.

Keitaro's mother had always been rather liberal, after all, she'd allowed her only son to participate heavily in a sport with high potential for broken bones and worse, but when she saw how skinny he was under his tracksuit, she insisted on serving him thirds and fourths, even though Keitaro protested that he wanted to keep his lean physique for at least a few more weeks. Keitaro's father, on the other hand, spent half the evening beaming, and the other half testing Keitaro to see if his ability to read Japanese had finally gotten up to scratch, and it had.

"What I really want to know," Keitaro said, as he followed his parents to their hotel, "is how you—"

"Whatever it is, it can wait until later," Keitaro's father said. "More importantly, son, let's talk about you. What do you want to do after this?"

Keitaro saw the way his father was looking at the medal still draped around his neck, and smiled. "This doesn't change anything. I'm going to go to school no matter what, even though I'm not sure about what I want to study yet. I have to talk about that to you and Mom, actually—and Professor Nawaz. He teaches cram school and some classes at Tokyo U, and I've made friends with him. He's from Islamabad too."

"I'm glad to hear that," Keitaro's father said. "Hold on… Nawaz, from Islamabad… do you remember your good friend Mister Afridi, the old record store owner—"

"Anyway, Keitaro," his mother said, "we're both very proud of you, and what you've done—and what you're going to do. We talked about that this whole evening, but now, tell us… how have you liked Japan? And how are you getting along with your grandmother?"

At those words, Keitaro's father stiffened and turned away. Then he reached into his pockets and lit up his first cigarette in years. For his part, Keitaro tried to speak—failed—and then finally managed to tell his mother that he'd rather wait until the next morning before opening that can of worms.

* * *

It was strange going back to Hinata Springs. For years, Keitaro had felt that he hadn't really had a home; he'd moved back and forth between DC and Islamabad so frequently that it was hard to tell which culture he identified with more. It didn't help that the primary relationships in his life, those he had with his parents, existed independently of where they lived.

Now, though, Keitaro had a home. The moment his parents drove into the miniscule Japanese village, he felt a sense of relaxation that he realized, for the first time in his life, was the feeling of being home. It didn't matter that he still wasn't sure about—well, anything—Hinata Springs had become his home over the past several months, and the people he'd lived with in his time there had, in a way, become like family to him.

It gave Keitaro pause when he thought about that, but it was true. Even the younger girls, who he was most distant from, clearly looked up to him, and he knew each of them well enough that it wasn't fair to say that they were friends and that was all. On the other hand, there were still distances between them, secrets that would never be told no matter what.

And that had resulted in problems. Kitsune, for example—and Keitaro still didn't know what he was going to do about that.

He was brooding, he realized, but so was his father. His mother was driving, so she wasn't able to glance at either her husband or her son very often. But when she did, she looked concerned, and it was because they refused to make eye contact with her. This wasn't just a homecoming for Keitaro; his father hadn't been back in Hinata Springs for over a decade, and it looked like if he had had his way, he wouldn't have come back ever.

And as they got closer to the back roads that led to Hinata Inn, Keitaro's father grew more and more obviously uncomfortable.

"Hey, Dad," Keitaro said, "why don't you and Mom take a walk around… you know, for old time's sake? I'll head inside and pack up some stuff, and join you later."

They pulled up to the stairs that led up to the Urashimas' estate. Keitaro's father took one look at the monolith that lay beyond them and nodded, and that was all.

* * *

Keitaro was alone as he made his way to Hinata Inn, and it didn't matter that he was as much a part of the place and its history as anyone now, or that he was wearing the gold medal that indicated that he was a world famous mountain biker—he was nervous. It was as bad as when he had gone there the first time, all those months ago…

Or, perhaps not. Now, Keitaro could read Japanese fluently, and now he knew better than to wander into the hot springs.

But he felt as out of place he had the first time when he entered Hinata Inn and looked to see if anyone was at home. So much had happened in the past two days that Keitaro wasn't sure about the relationships he shared with the girls. He wanted to be friends with them, certainly, but what had happened was certain to have changed something between them.

And then there was Kitsune.

Thinking about her was painful. What she had done was in the past, but it was evidence of poor character… wasn't it? She'd changed so much in the past few months, but she'd kept a lot of herself from him, and that wasn't right, since he was her boyfriend. But then again, he _wasn't_ her boyfriend, not really. It had been he who had asked her to wait until after the YI and the Tokyo U entrance exam, after all.

But they weren't just friends, either. They had kissed several times, and Keitaro was sure that when his life had settled down, he and Kitsune really would start to get serious about what was between them. Now, though… that just wasn't possible, was it?

Keitaro made his way into his room and the few articles of luggage he was carrying down next to his bed. It occurred to him just how clean his small living space was. Wherever else he'd lived, his rooms had been messy and disorganized, but here, they were neat, tidy, and organized. And it wasn't just that he hadn't brought many of his possessions with him, either. Over the months, he'd accumulated a healthy number of books and other odds and ends, but still, his room remained clean.

Japan had changed him, he realized. It had changed him a lot.

No one had been downstairs. And after Keitaro did a quick sweep up the girls' rooms on the second and third floors, he observed that no one was there, either. Even Naru's room was precisely the same as she'd left it.

Thinking about her made his eyes harden. She was crazy and she'd attacked his friend—and she hadn't paid rent in the past month. Keitaro wasn't sure about the intricacies of landlord-tenant laws in Japan, but something like that had to have given him the standing to evict her. He would look into that as soon as he could, and once he did, nothing would stop him from sending one last email to Naru and then starting to carry her things down to the street.

For now, though… he was just wandering around in an empty house, alone with his memories.

Keitaro made his way out of Hinata Inn and back down the stairs that led to town. He glanced at the mailbox and remembered that no one had been there to check it for the past several days, so he did, and found two letters inside.

He opened the first one and read it without reaction. But when he opened the second one, he stopped, halfway through, and then sat down on the stairs so that he could read it again. By the time he was finished, he was in tears, and that was because after a decade and a half of dreaming, he had been accepted into Tokyo University.

* * *

His medal was concealed in his jacket except for a small piece that allowed anyone who glanced at him to see the gold it was made out of sparkle. The letter that was the culmination of most of his life's hopes was clenched tightly in his hand, except for when he straightened it out to read it again.

It was signed by the dean of admissions, congratulating Keitaro on his accomplishment. An embossed seal at the top of the document showed that it was an original, and Professor Nawaz texted Keitaro a brief message: Congrats—on both of your achievements. No matter how hard he tried to believe that this was some kind of trick, he couldn't think of how that could have been. He, Urashima Keitaro, really was going to study at Tokyo University, and the letter in his hand was proof of that.

When he accepted that, fully and truly, he started to smile. Then, he started to laugh, and then he literally started to dash to and from passersby so that he could shake their hands and accept their congratulations. This was the sort of behavior that would only be tolerated if a Japanese was doing it, but Keitaro was Japanese and Hinata Springs was his hometown.

* * *

He looked forward to telling his parents the good news, but there were so many different ways to tell them that Keitaro couldn't settle on any one. Apart from that, he was enjoying the anticipation of it far too much to go and do it right away. Besides, it was a beautiful day: the sun was shining and the temperature was just at that point where it was comfortable to wear anything from shorts and a tee shirt to a suit.

He felt freer and more alive than he ever had before in his life. The YI was over—he'd won it—and the Tokyo U entry exams were over—and he'd gotten into Toyko U. For the first time in months, there was nothing pressing to do, and for that matter, there wasn't all that much that he _could_ do, since he was still strained from the exertions of the day before. For once in his life, Keitaro was doing the best possible thing by just relaxing and walking around, and enjoying the still quietness of the hot springs town.

Now that he thought of it, he still didn't know Hinata Springs very well. When he went to town, it was almost always either in passing or to stop at the supermarket for supplies. Back when he'd just arrived in Japan, he'd always intended to just wander around the area for a while, but he hadn't made time for it—so it had been postponed again and again, until now. Now, Keitaro was finally going to spend some time getting to know the fringes of the town that had been his home for months.

Despite its proximity to urban Japan, there were parts of Hinata Springs that weren't very developed. Keitaro made his way past several of these: empty lots, a few abandoned buildings, and some parks that had once upon a time been carefully maintained by a small army of servants. In time, he found himself wandering into an area that seemed bizarrely familiar, though he couldn't realize why. All he knew was that he felt an inexplicable need to sit down in the center of a small upraised wooden structure that still had a few grains of sand left in it.

He did this for some time, grasping at fragments of memories that infrequently rose in his mind. It was at this time that, from the road connecting Hinata Springs to the next town over, Haitani and Shirai approached.

Keitaro stood up and dusted himself off before rapidly approaching his friends. He recognized them immediately, and after a moment, they recognized him too. They were each understandably jumpy after what had happened on the train, but once they saw that the tall figure approaching them was Keitaro, they relaxed and simply walked faster.

"Haitani, Shirai—what are you guys doing here? And Haitani, are you okay?" Keitaro asked.

"Ah, I'm alright," Haitani said. "The bitch dislodged two of my molars, but they got reset and cemented in place. It wasn't really that bad, and the stuff they give you at the hospital is actually pretty nice. What's it called, Shirai? Morphing? Morph-ine?"

"Err, I'm not sure," Shirai replied. "Anyway, Keitaro, did you lose your phone or something? We must have called you a hundred times… we got so worried that we came here from our place in Tokyo"

"It must have gotten low on power and shut off," Keitaro said. "I just didn't get time to juice it up, what with the YI and all. And by the way, guys, I… I won it."

Keitaro unzipped his jacket halfway, exposing the gold medal draped around his neck. Shirai and Haitani each stared at it for a full minute, before sharing a few smiles.

"We watched it on TV, from the beginning," Haitani said. "You came out of nowhere, Kei—the cameraman didn't even get you on screen until you were at the finish line. How did you even do it?"

"It's a long story," Keitaro said, shaking each of his friends' hands in turn. "I'll tell you about it another time."

"Alright, but you _have_ to tell us what happened to those two guys who fell off the cliff," Shirai said. "The officials said that no one was mortally injured, but someone was taken to the hospital by helicopter. We know, because we were there when it happened."

"Well, one of the guys who fell off of the cliff was me," Keitaro said, "and the other guy… you said that he's alive? Not even mortally injured?"

"That's right," Shirai said. His eyes then narrowed as he noticed the way Keitaro's shoulders seemed to slump, and then tighten again when he said that. "Why?"

"Another time," Keitaro said, shaking his head and turning away. "I just—I need to collect my thoughts about that," he said. _"And call a lawyer."_

There was silence for a moment. Then, Keitaro snapped his fingers and looked up. "Hey—you guys must have stopped at your place in Tokyo on the way here. Did you get your letters from Tokyo U?"

"Yeah," Shirai said softly. "Both of us did."

"So did I!" Keitaro said triumphantly. He pulled out his acceptance letter from his coat and opened it up so that both of his friends could see the seal on the top and the signature at the bottom. "Three for three—hey, that means we'll be studying together, right? Congratulations, guys!" He laughed out loud for a few moments, and in time, Haitani and Shirai joined him. It therefore took Keitaro some moments to realize that while both of them were laughing and smiling, they were doing so in rather forced, weak manners.

Keitaro stopped laughing. He folded his letter up and put it back into his jacket.

"You… didn't get in, did you?" Keitaro asked.

"No," Shirai said. "And Haitani's waitlisted. So, I guess that makes it… one and a half for three, eh, Keitaro?" He tried to laugh, but gave up after only a moment.

Keitaro didn't know what to say. He reached out to place his hand on Shirai's forearm but stopped himself when he remembered that physical contact like that was only acceptable between people of opposite genders, or girls. Guys couldn't comfort one another like that. They couldn't comfort one another… at all, really.

"So… what are you going to do now?" Keitaro asked.

Shirai sighed. "I'm going to go back to the US. I did pretty well on my SATs, so I think I can get into Georgetown or something for public policy… or maybe I'll go into business and engineering somewhere else. Either way, I'll be following one of my parents' footsteps." He laughed. "I'll be in Japan a lot, though. These past few months have been…" his voice trailed off and he shook his head.

"Besides, I need to keep up with you, Mr. Tokyo U. You're going places, and besides, we've been friends for a long time now, even though we don't see each other that much. We really have been friends for a long time, haven't we?" he repeated.

Keitaro had to remind himself again that physical contact wasn't acceptable among guys. So, he grinned, and agreed. "Yeah. Best friends. For a very, very long time," he said. He then turned to Haitani. "What about you? What are you going to do, if… you know?"

"If I get into Tokyo U, I'll go there," Haitani said. "If not… well, then, I'm going to cut all of this off," he said, indicating his long hair, "and then I'm going to get on the first plane to Paris and join the Foreign Legion."

Haitani joked a lot, but just then, his voice was flat and low and serious. Keitaro glanced at Shirai—he was shocked, too—and it was a moment before he could come up with words.

"The Foreign Legion? As in, the French Foreign Legion?" Keitaro asked. After Haitani nodded, he continued. "Are you… sure that you've thought it through, man?"

"_J'ai pensé à ce sujet car j'avais quinze ans_," Haitani said. He looked at the expressions on each of his friends' faces and laughed. "My parents put a lot of pressure on me to get into Tokyo U. Maybe yours did too, but not like mine. If I get in, things will change—at least, that's what I tell myself—but if I don't… then I can't deal with their disappointment anymore." He reached up to stroke his hair, and in that motion, his sleeve fell open, revealing a telltale series of scars on his wrists.

"So if I don't get into Tokyo U… well, it might be a long time before I see either of you again," Haitani said. "They say that that school can make or break fates… well, it's true in my case. If I get in, my parents might not look at me the way they do anymore, but if not… then they'll never look at me again."

There was silence for a long moment. Eventually, Haitani broke it.

"Anyway, we came here to make sure that you were okay… and you're okay, so it's time for us to go. Shirai should pack, and I… guess that I should, too. Just in case."

"Yeah," Keitaro said. "Just in case."

The three friends shared one last look. Keitaro moved forward—stopped—and then held out his hand and shook with each of his friends once more. Then, Haitani and Shirai turned to leave him, walking their own paths in life once again.

But something about what Haitani had said stuck with Keitaro. Tokyo U, the object of untold thousands of Japanese students' passions… it could make or break fates.

With that in mind, Keitaro reached into his jacket and took out the first letter he'd taken from the mailbox. Then, after reading its contents again, he turned his phone on, ignored the low power warning, and began to format an email.

* * *

Business was good enough that she could take a few days off. Anything beyond that, however, was too much.

Haruka hadn't bothered walking up to Hinata Inn when she had returned to her hometown. The house on the hill wasn't her place, her place was where she was: hard at work in her tea shop, sweeping and smoking a cigarette. That's how it had always been and that was how it would always be.

She was content about it, she mused, because she was close enough to people to enjoy their company, but far enough from them that things were simple. On the other hand, she couldn't ignore the painful sense of longing she felt when she looked at the couple in her shop. It was comprised of her elder brother and his wife, and they had barely taken their eyes off of one another since they'd entered. And a moment later, another couple entered—Professor Nawaz, Haruka recognized him in a second—and his wife, a fair skinned woman with a slight stature and pleasant smile.

She served them and was about to continue sweeping when the door opened again. And when she saw who had entered, the cigarette she was smoking fell from her lips.

Noriyasu Seta lit up a cigarette that was identical to the ones she smoked. He then smiled at her roguishly, and said, "Haruka… it's been a long time."

For a moment, she did nothing and said nothing. Then, the corners of her lips twitched into a smile.

* * *

The ninety-ninth stroke was perfect. And then, a second later, the hundredth was too.

Good—the days she'd taken off of practicing her swordsmanship to prepare for her jiu jitsu test hadn't seen her skills drop. Now, Motoko was skilled with a blade as well as her bare hands, and the pristine cloth she had tied around her waist was proof of that. She was the pinnacle of perfection as far as her family was concerned: silent, deadly, detached, with a sense of right and wrong powerful enough to let her make even the most complicated of moral decisions in seconds.

And she still had so much left to learn. If there was one thing she'd learned from her time at Hinata Inn after Keitaro had arrived, that was it: that there was so much that she didn't know.

On the other hand, she was no longer the woman she had been. Now, she didn't hate men on sight, for one thing—she actually accepted that some of them—maybe even most of them—were people that weren't that different from her, with their own personalities and struggles. And although she'd regurgitated the slogans about perseverance and hard work that she'd been force-fed from the cradle dutifully, now, she truly believed in them.

That was because she'd seen the power of abiding by those sayings. And as much as her family fancied her the picture of determination and mental strength, they didn't know Keitaro like she did. They didn't know that he'd prepared for two of the most legendarily difficult competitions in the world, all while managing a dormitory filled with _eccentric_ young women. They didn't know that he'd done this while maintaining friendships and familial ties, _while_ starting a relationship of his own.

They'd try to tell her that such challenges were below a woman of her standing. But she knew better than that. It wasn't weakness to be engaged with the modern world—that was just part of becoming a functional, well-rounded human being, and that was the only kind of human being that could truly be called strong.

Motoko sheathed her sword and went down from the roof back to her room. She took her gi off, and after only a moment of hesitation, put on a set of clothes she'd purchased in secret some weeks before, but only now had the strength and confidence to wear. They were neither more nor less than a simple pair of dark, fitted jeans, and a shirt that clung to her frame almost enough to make it clear that she was a woman.

Then she packed her bags with her clothes and possessions. It only took moments, since she had so few of each, and when she was finished, she turned to leave.

Then she turned around and hastily took a pen and sheet of paper from one of her bags. She'd have sent an email instead, but she didn't have a computer or phone, and barely knew how to use either.

"All," she wrote, "I would like to thank you for the months of happiness and memories I have found here. It was truly an honor to get to know each one of you, but now I must be going. To become a greater warrior—" she paused, scratched out that sentence. "To become a greater human being, I have to continue forward alone. Therefore, my path may not intersect with any of yours anymore. Sincerely, Motoko."

She reread it. And even though she had received only the most cursory of educations in the literary arts, she knew it was robotic, bland, forced, false. But it was the best she could do, because her own emotions were no better than that. She left the letter on the bed after adding a postscript, and then she left Hinata Inn for the last time.

"My path may not intersect with any of yours anymore, but I'll do my best to see that it does. I have a year to prepare for the next round of Tokyo U entry exams, and I intend to make the most of it.

"Love, Motoko."

* * *

"It's always so hard to go back to school after a vacation," Kaolla complained. "Our teachers are such a bore."

"Maybe, but it's important to study hard," Shinobu replied. "And in a way, it's nice to get back into the swing of things, isn't it."

Kaolla sighed and rested her hands behind her head. "I guess so. But you have to agree that our teachers are terrible."

"Only some of them."

Hinata Inn's reserves of food and supplies had been depleted in preparation for its residents' brief vacation, so Shinobu drew Kaolla out of the path home toward a nearby supermarket. They had a lot to buy, and she needed Kaolla's carrying it back.

The two girls made their way directly to where the raw ingredients were sold: vegetables, noodles, rice, spices. As they did, they passed by a vending machine and the group of teenage boys trying to persuade it to give them an extra can of soda by shaking it until it rattled. Shinobu shivered as she walked by and tried to look down, but it was too late—one of them caught her eye.

"Well, hello, beautiful," he said. That earned him a round of snickers from his friends, and much to Shinobu's dismay, they started to follow her and Kaolla.

Shinobu tried to walk faster, but Kaolla didn't seem to sense the danger and was simply wandering around at her own pace. Shinobu couldn't abandon her, but at the same time, the guys were getting closer and closer, and laughing and talking to one another more and more excitedly. Motoko wasn't there—Naru wasn't there—Keitaro wasn't there—so Shinobu turned around and faced her foes.

"Leave us alone!" she said. "We don't like your jokes and we don't want to talk to you. What are you doing, hitting on young girls anyway? Don't you have any dignity?"

She had spoken loudly enough that several of the store's patrons were turning to see what was going on. The boys she'd told off had stopped approaching her, but rather than looking embarrassed or angry, they just looked annoyed.

"Alright, but couldn't you have just said that, instead of making a scene?" one of them said. "Besides, you're not little girls. How old are you, fourteen? You're not a child anymore, and besides, how old do you think we are?" He gestured at himself and his friends, and for the first time, Shinobu saw that the tall, dangerous-looking teenaged boys she'd always feared were really not that much older than her at all. And when they walked past her to leave, she saw that the leader of the bunch, the one who had done the talking, was almost exactly as tall as she was.

She barely realized it, though, and that was because of what he'd said. She wasn't a child anymore, not even in the eyes of a stranger who didn't know that she lived away from her parents and took on responsibilities that would crush many adults. And she wasn't sure about how she felt about that.

Regardless, it didn't take her long to tear Kaolla away from where the bananas were sold and get her to make the purchases and start to head back to Hinata Inn. Still, on the way back, Shinobu found herself dwelling on the fact that she could no longer think of herself as a child, and what that meant for the future.

"Kaolla," she said, "after you finish high school… what are your plans? You're going to serve your country, right?"

"That was my original plan," Kaolla replied, "but now, I'm not sure. I want to go back home someday, but for now, the opportunities we've gotten are hard to pass up."

"That's true," Shinobu said. "I can't believe we got the emails already… how do you think the others will react when we tell them that we've gotten into Tokyo U's fast track program for rising high school students?"

* * *

Keitaro looked over the email he'd written. He thought about deleting it and throwing the letter that had prompted it into the gutter, but after a moment of deliberation, he hit send.

Then he sat back down in what he finally realized had once been a sandbox and let things happen as they would without further intervention from him.

* * *

"_So,"_ she thought dully, _"this is what it's like to get your stomach pumped."_

She still wasn't sure about what had happened. Her memories of the past few days were unclear, in no small part due to the amount of drugs still in her system. But she'd been told—at least, she thought she'd been told—that two days before, she had swallowed a cocktail of painkillers and sleeping pills and fallen into a street. She had just missed being hit by a car, and when she'd come to, the first thing that they'd asked her was why she had had such a quantity of drugs all at once.

And Naru had told them that it was because she was trying to recover from a severe headache and lack of sleep from studying too hard for the Tokyo U entrance exams. The doctors had seen that happen before, a hundred times, so they had made a few marks on their clipboards and walked away without another word. They didn't consider for a second that Naru hadn't been trying to recover from anything, and that she hadn't fallen into a street—rather, she'd _thrown_ herself into a street, apparently too impaired already to get the bus she was aiming for to hit her.

She'd failed, though. Just like she'd failed the Tokyo U entry exams. Her punishment was to be trapped in a hospital bed, half-reclined, attached to an IV drip and several diagnostic machines. She couldn't do anything, couldn't go anywhere, couldn't talk to anyone—not that there was anyone left who would talk to her. She'd isolated herself from every single last person on Earth who might have spoken to her. She had nothing, not even a purpose in life after she'd failed the Tokyo U exam. She had no one—not her family, not friends, not contacts from years ago who she'd parted company with on good terms. All that she could do was lay there, covered in flower-patterned sheets, and think about what she'd do differently next time to make sure that she was successful. She wouldn't bother with drugs, they were too unreliable. Next time, she'd just step in front of a bus, or throw herself off a skyscraper, or jump into the sea.

But for now, she was stuck in the hospital, all by herself. No one knew that she was there, and even if they did, no one would care that she was there. She had nothing to do but to drown in the terrible position she'd put herself into—even the TV mounted in the corner of her room didn't work.

Eventually, Naru turned on her side and tried to get some sleep. That was when she realized that her possessions had been organized and placed on the chair next to her bed. Her clothes had been laundered and her cell phone, even then, was blinking to show that it was fully charged… and that it had several notifications in queue.

Naru reached over, straining against the cords attached to her somewhat, and took up her phone. She typed in her password and began to scroll through the messages that popped up on screen, and when she did, she realized something that surprised her.

After she'd left Hinata Inn, she hadn't been forgotten about. Her friends there had tried to contact her repeatedly, via text messages, emails, and phone calls. Kitsune had tried almost daily, and the rest of them hadn't given up until just a few days ago, when she had tried to intercept Keitaro on the train.

But there was even an email that had been sent to her after that. In fact, it had only been sent a few minutes before—and it was an email, from Keitaro. Naru opened it up and saw that while the subject line was blank, the body had a single sentence written in it.

"Congratulations on your acceptance to Tokyo University."

Naru didn't realize that she'd opened up the photo attachment until some moments later. Then, she looked at the embossed stamp at the top of the letter. She read it over once—twice—three times—and then she shut her eyes and let her phone fall into her lap. Tears began to silently stream out of her eyes, and she wasn't sure if they were the result of happiness or sadness.

She'd gotten into Tokyo U after a lifetime of dreaming, and yearning, and studying, and struggling for it. But the reason she'd set herself on that goal, so many years before, was a man who she'd insulted so viciously that he surely never wanted to see her face again.

But wasn't that only because he didn't know who she really was? Keitaro only knew her as Narusegawa Naru, but if he came to know her as the girl of his memories, the one who he'd promised to attend Tokyo U with… then things would surely change between them. She'd be forgiven, and they could look forward to their shared future together. As for Kitsune… it was sad that she'd have to give Keitaro up, but that couldn't be helped. Keitaro was Naru's, and he had been from since each of them could remember.

Naru sat up. She disconnected herself from the leads attached to her and put her clothes on. Then, she walked out of her room, stepped into the nearest elevator she could find, and watched a small team of nurses race into the room that had been hers just as the doors closed.

It was then that Naru realized that she wasn't alone in the elevator. Someone had been going down before she'd gotten in, and that someone was a muscular guy with a cast on his arm. He had long brown hair, somewhat like her, but he was taller than she was. A lot taller.

Naru swallowed and faced forward. She didn't fear men—rather, she hated them—but this guy was scary. When she'd glanced at him, she'd seen an expression on his face that made her shiver where she stood. It didn't help that the elevator they were in was almost claustrophobically small, and that she could see his reflection in the polished metal of the elevator's interior. He was getting closer to her.

She felt a hand on her hip and tried to squirm away, but there was nowhere to go. She told him to stop, and he did, for a second, before she felt that same hand on another, more private part of her body. Fear almost overwhelmed her, but she turned around to slap him across the face. He caught her hand, however, and squeezed it until it hurt.

"Narusegawa Naru," he said in a terrible, familiar voice that made chills go up and down her spine. "Do you really not recognize me?"

"Kentaro, let go, _please_, it hurts," she begged him. He laughed and released her, at which point she pressed herself into the corner of the elevator and glowered at him, cradling her hurt hand. "You bastard. You haven't changed since Korea."

"Damn right I haven't changed. You haven't changed much, either, Naru. You're still useless, except for one thing." He laughed again and advanced on her, but she spoke before he could smother her.

"I heard that you lost the Yokohama Invitational," she said. "What a shame. And look at your arm—you poor thing, that was your good arm, wasn't it?"

He sneered. "I might have lost the YI, but I still have my pride. And this arm," he said, lifting his uninjured hand, "is just as good."

Then he slapped her, harder than he ever had before. She felt every ounce of muscle he'd gained over the past few years, as well as the full effects of the mental and physical anguish he'd suffered over the past days, as well as the results of her taunting in that blow. She saw strange balls of light flicker before her vision and the next thing she knew, she was on her knees, blinking hard and feeling the hot wetness of spilled blood run down her cheek.

And he was laughing at her. The elevator had reached the ground floor and was opening its doors—but he pressed the button that closed them and advanced on her again.

She almost let him. _Almost._ Then she remembered one of the last things her father had ever told her, and what he'd spent a year trying to teach her.

"It's a shame I'm not wearing heels," she said below her breath.

Then she stood, took off one of her shoes, and held it in her hand. Before Kentaro could tell what she was doing, she struck him across the face with it forcefully enough to knock a tooth out of his mouth. He fell to the ground, unconscious, and Naru left him—though not before she took a set of keys from his pocket.

She only hoped he drove a car, as she left the elevator and made her way into the attached parking lot. After all, she couldn't drive a motorbike.

* * *

He'd been sitting there for over an hour, and he still didn't know why. Every time he stood up to leave, he felt a compelling force sit him back down again, so he knew that there was something important about that old, forgotten wooden structure filled with sand. But what could it be? He'd never been there before, not on this trip to Hinata Springs anyway, and the only other time that he'd been to Hinata Springs in his life, he had been a little kid.

So if he had been where he was before, it had been years and years ago, almost before Keitaro could remember. But something had happened there, and whatever it was, it had been important. That was why Keitaro had been there for an hour, and that was why he would continue to be there until he remembered… whatever he had forgotten.

He heard an approaching footstep, looked up, and found himself face to face with Kitsune. She was only a few yards away, and on her face was such a profound sadness that it almost hurt him to look at it. Keitaro stood up and took a step towards her—but then, he stopped himself. He stared at her, though she was right in front of him, until she spoke.

"Can we talk, Kei? Please?" she asked.

Keitaro felt himself smile. He nodded and took a step closer to Kitsune, so that they were almost but not quite side by side. Neither of them spoke for some time—they just walked, enjoying the cool weather and the relative silence of the abandoned sections of Hinata Spring.

"So," Keitaro said eventually, "I think this is the best time for you to really tell me about you, Kitsune. You said that when everything was over, you'd be an open book for me, and… everything's over now, so… go ahead."

Keitaro could see her out of the corner of his eye, looking this way and that. She didn't answer for a long time, but when she did, it was clear that she tried to choose her words carefully, but had failed.

"I guess I'll start at the top," she said. "I've had a terrible relationship with my parents from the time I was born, and that's because my uncle… well, he's not actually my uncle. He's my father." She shut her eyes, sighed, and kept walking. "They never even told me about it. But when I found out about it, it explained everything—why my uncle always wanted to be close to me, but my dad never let him, why my dad hated me and yelled at me every time I stuck a toe out of line, why he hit my mom, and why she never did anything to stop it. It's why my uncle gave me all of that money when he died.

"I think it's also why my mother committed suicide. Or why they say she did," Kitsune said. "I came home one day, and my dad just… looked at me, said, "The bitch is dead," and that was that. I was out of the house in an hour, and that was when he told me that he wasn't actually my dad. That was the first time anyone told me about it, so… I called my uncle. He brought me to his house, and I was there for a while. We never really talked about anything, but... when I came home from school, he'd ask me how my day was, and if I did badly on a test, he wouldn't shout at me for hours and call me a failure. But then he died." Kitsune sighed. "He gave me all of his money, but… I guess it just wasn't enough. I'd lost my mom and my uncle in the space of about a month, and when I tried to call my dad, he told me that if I ever contacted him again he'd call the police. That fucked me up for a long time, and that's what led to… everything else.

"The only one I had in those days was Naru," Kitsune said. "Everyone else… all of my friends from school and swimming, they left me, eventually. But not Naru. She's why I was eventually able to lay off of the drugs. She tried to get me off of booze too, but it was too hard. And I still had to rely on guys for a while to give me enough money for rent and stuff, because I didn't want to waste my uncle's money. Funny—Naru never had a problem with me using those guys… all of those guys. I can't give you a specific number, Kei, but if I had to guess… it's probably over a hundred. You were supposed to be the last one, you know," Kitsune said. "I started to plan it out the moment I saw you. You were smart, fit, young, and well-connected, but you were also naïve. You were the reason I gave up drinking, not because of some stupid bet. I gave up drinking because I needed you to have a higher opinion of me, so that eventually, I'd have you so infatuated with me that I'd own you. I planned to use you for as long as possible—for the rest of my life, even. You're going to become rich enough that I could have done that."

"And let me guess," Keitaro cut in. "That _was_ the plan… but at some point, you don't know how, but… things changed, didn't they? Isn't that right, Kitsune?"

"Yes," Kitsune replied. It was then that she realized how impossible her story sound. Even Keitaro was smiling at her and shaking his head, and when she saw that, she struggled to stop herself from crying.

There had to be something she could say to convince Keitaro she was telling the truth, even after being dishonest with him for so long. There had to be something she could do to show him that her feelings for him were true. But Kitsune couldn't think of anything, and though she continued to look at Keitaro, he kept moving farther, and farther away from her.

But that wasn't just because of what had happened between them. A motorcyclist had arrived on the scene and, after struggling to brake for a moment, had run headfirst into a streetlight. The driver had been thrown clear to roll across the road for a few painful yards, and when Kitsune saw who it was, she froze.

Narusegawa Naru was back in Hinata Springs.

* * *

Adrenaline stopped her from feeling pain. But when Naru lifted her arms and saw the lacerations running them up and down, she knew that she'd be in agony in moments. It was just due to sheer luck that she hadn't severed an artery, but she'd been cut up badly enough that she was even then being infected by untold thousands of bacteria.

She tried to stand. Her ankle gave out and she almost fell, but someone caught her under the shoulder and lifted her to her feet.

"Thanks," she sputtered. She'd hit her solar plexus on the bike handle when she'd crashed, and was still struggling to catch her breath. But when she saw who had helped her up, she lost it again.

It was Keitaro. His face was stern and serious as he dusted Naru off and looked her over. She tried to stand on her own, but that almost made her faint. The next thing she knew, he had lifted her into his arms and was carefully lowering her to the ground.

"Don't push yourself," he said. "You're not hurt badly, but you're in shock. Focus—breathe in and out slowly. Don't look away from me and don't try to do anything. Just breathe."

He was still holding her arms firmly, because she had struggled against him the moment he had let her down. He was a lot stronger than she was, she didn't know why she'd never realized it before. He'd lifted her off the ground and restrained her without trying. And now he was staring at her with such intensity that she couldn't have looked away if she'd wanted to. Now that she allowed herself to notice it, she appreciated just how exotic his eyes were, and his face—so lean and well defined—was so close to hers that she spent a few seconds simply drinking in his beauty.

And then he stood up and stepped back. He continued to stare at her, but it was no longer with the urgency and concern that he had a moment ago. Now, he was suspicious of her—angry at her, even. So, Naru was left to pick herself up off the ground as Kitsune finally jogged over to see what was going on.

"Why are you here?" Keitaro asked. "And why did you use a bike? You can't drive a bike."

"I know," Naru said. "But I couldn't wait for a bus or a train. I had to come back to Hinata Springs, so I—I took the first opportunity. I had to see you, Keitaro, I—" she swallowed. "I'm… ready to tell you what I was going to say in the train."

By now, the cause of Keitaro's anger was clear: he was scared. He was almost hyperventilating and his hands had clenched into fists. Even though Kitsune was trying to talk him down, he didn't visibly calm until Naru sat back down and looked away, careful to keep her hands visible. She couldn't harm Keitaro from such a position; she wasn't even sitting up straight. And when he saw that, he began to breathe more normally.

"So say it," Keitaro practically spat. "This is your last chance, so make it count."

Wetness began to bead in the corners of Naru's eyes. "Alright, I'll tell you," she said, struggling to play for time while she found the words to use. "But Keitaro… don't you recognize where we are?"

For some reason, those words made Keitaro re-examine the forgotten sector of Hinata Springs that he'd wandered into. He looked down at the wooden beam that Naru was sitting on and saw it, for the first time, as more than cracked, empty industrial waste. Once upon a time, it and the several other wood beams it was connected to had enclosed something.

Keitaro stepped past Naru. The ground behind her had messily grown in, but he nudged a few of the plants there with his foot. They pulled out of the ground easily, because they weren't in soil—rather, they had grown in sand. And the twisted, rusted bits of metal around them weren't the remains of I-beams or shopping carts. They had once been painted a playful color of red and welded together to form, undeniably, a playground.

He knelt down without realizing it and placed a hand into the sand. His shoulders heaved, and as Kitsune moved to comfort him, Naru spoke again.

"I remembered who you were right after I took the test. That was why I tried to find out on the train," she said. "And if I'd remembered sooner…" She could no longer stop herself from crying. "I'm so, so sorry about everything I did. I treated you so badly, just because you were a guy—I didn't know that you were the one I had promised!"

At those words, Kitsune placed a hand over her mouth. She was starting to understand why Keitaro and Naru were looking at each other the way they were, and why Keitaro was actually telling Naru that it was alright. Everything she had done to him was alright, because of a promise they had made to one another when they were just children. And the way they were staring at each other… Kitsune couldn't bare it.

"Keitaro, what happened to your friend?" she asked suddenly. "You know, the one whose mouth was hurt… he's alright, isn't he?"

"Yeah, I saw him just now," Keitaro said vaguely. He blinked, tore his eyes from Naru, and glanced at Kitsune. "He wasn't hurt badly at all."

"I'm sorry about him," Naru said quickly. "I was just so angry that I couldn't talk to you that I lashed out, and he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I-I'll send him a letter, or an email or something, as soon as I get a chance."

"Yeah, that would be good," Keitaro said. "But… is there anything else you're sorry for, Naru? Apart from the way you treated me and Haitani?"

Naru looked up at him. Keitaro could see the confusion and misunderstanding on her face, and there was no way it could have been contrived. Kentaro had taken responsibility for trying to run him down both times and throwing the rock through Hinata Inn's window, and as for the water heater explosion… that must have been the ultranationalists. If Naru didn't have a strong enough penchant for violence to throw a rock at Keitaro, then she certainly didn't have it in her to blow up half a house and put the lives of her friends at risk. She hadn't done any of the things Keitaro thought she had.

"Oh—I'm sorry for what I said to you, Kitsune," Naru said. "I'm sorry for what I said to everyone else, but especially you. You've been my best friend for so long, and I treated you like that because I was having a tough day… I'm sorry."

Kitsune's eyes flickered toward Keitaro once when Naru spoke to her. When she was finished, Kitsune nodded—then she reached down, took Naru's hand, and brought her to her feet so that they could hug. A moment later, Keitaro joined them, touching Naru for the first time in a very, very long time.

"It's okay," Kitsune said softly. "What's in the past is in the past. Let's just… do the best we can from where we are." She felt Naru nod into her shoulder and stepped back some moments later, along with Keitaro. But Naru held Keitaro by the wrists, preventing him from moving too far away, and looked into his eyes again.

"But… what about our promise, Keitaro? That's not just in the past… is it?"

"No, of course not," Keitaro said automatically. He tried to smile at Naru, but then he understood what she was really asking.

He looked at Kitsune for a moment. Then he looked back at Naru. They were both young, attractive woman with bright futures ahead of them, but that was where the similarities stopped. Keitaro didn't know Naru as well as he knew Kitsune, but he knew that they were entirely different people. And that was why he knew that the choice he made then was the right one.

Keitaro placed his hands on top of Naru's.

"Some things will never remain in the past," Keitaro said. "But what's really important are the decisions we decide to make in the present."

He stroked her fingers for a moment. Then he brushed her hands away from him and stood in front of Kitsune. He held her hands and searched for words for a moment, but failed. So he stepped forward and kissed Kitsune, and in seconds, she started to kiss him back. They held one another close as their kisses deepened, and while Kitsune cried for one reason, Naru cried for another.

It was almost too much for her to bear. After everything she'd been through, things weren't going to work out for her after all. The promise she'd made all those years ago, that had sustained her through the most difficult times in her life would never be fulfilled. Keitaro had chosen Kitsune instead of her, and they looked so happy together that it hurt. She'd never, ever find that happiness in her life, no matter how hard she tried…

At least, not with Keitaro.

Naru suddenly realized that she wasn't crying anymore. In fact, she was smiling at Keitaro and Kitsune, because they were her friends and she was happy for them. And she was going to keep her promise—after all, she was going to go to Tokyo U with Keitaro. There, she would finally be able to close the last few sad chapters of her life.

But new chapters would begin for her, as well as Keitaro and Kitsune. They'd have so many new opportunities as they entered Tokyo U that it would be hard to keep track of them all. Kitsune was a national-recognized athlete and author, and Keitaro was an internationally-recognized athlete. Naru would have to work hard to stand with pride around them, but she already had ideas about what she could do to make her place in the world.

As far as Keitaro was concerned, though, he'd found his place in the world, and that was in the arms of the woman he loved. He would make other goals, certainly, but his primary goal would be to remember that and stay true to it, and the same was true for Kitsune.

A long time later, Keitaro and Kitsune drew apart from one another. He lost himself in her eyes for a few seconds, but something a hundred yards behind her distracted him. A lady, barely five feet tall and gray haired, was watching them and smiling to herself, as if everything had gone as planned.

* * *

(This is the first Love Hina fanfiction that I have finished, so thanks to all of you for the support and interest in this piece. I enjoyed writing it a lot, and it's really helped me improve my skills. To those of you who have supported me by reviewing a lot of my chapters and leaving behind useful or interesting comments, feel free to drop me a PM. If you do, I may send you a special chapter I have prepared for true supporters, which is a brief XXX-rated description of Keitaro and Kitsune's first night together.

Anyway, I hope the ending wasn't too sunshine-and-lollipops, but I had to do it. Most of the things I have written have ended on very dark notes, so it was nice to write something that wasn't terribly depressing for once.

Now, I must regrettably announce that this will be the last major fanfiction I will publish on this profile. I have been thinking about dropping this profile for a while, but I think the time has finally come to do it. After so many years, this profile just has way too much momentum and memories attached to it for me to change and improve myself. I am very nearly at the point where I can consider myself a serious writer, and to jump the final few hurdles, I'll really need to up the ante.

So, for the last time (disbarring any brief oneshots)… goodbye, and thanks again for all of the support.)


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